Withered Leaves
by silvanelf
Summary: Aragorn and Legolas face unexpected hardships, which have drastic consequences for the elf. Post-Return of the King.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Middle Earth, nor anything that dwells inside it.

Summary: My first story posted ever, hope it's to your taste. Aragorn and Legolas are faced with unexpected hard times, which have drastic consequences for the elf.

Enjoy. (please!)

_Prologue_

The palace steps were made from solid stone. Strong, without flaw, not even a miniscule crack could be seen. Each stone square was cut and set evenly, smoothed down to perfection. When they were walked upon, the heel made a resounding click against the stone, as pronounced as a person snapping their fingers. Someone walking briskly down to the stables could be heard from as far away as the kitchens, as well as four stories up.

But the person today clicking against the stone was not walking briskly towards the stables, indeed not. Instead, this person was pacing, firm strides, back and forth over the same stretch of bare stone that had escaped from the rug's covering embrace. The click of the heels against the stone beat out an unconscious rhythm, a beat to unheard music, as well as a beat unheard by the rest of the palace. For the one place that no clicks could be heard from was the king's study. Aragorn had long ago decided that if he was to be a fair and just leader that he would need a place where he would be allowed to think in total and blissful silence. His study was deemed the room.

And certainly now he was unconsciously grateful for such a room, for a problem, such a one he had not faced before, had come upon him.

It had actually not started out as a problem at all, something so insignificant that not even the king had taken notice, for indeed, why should he, when it was absolutely normal to go a week or two without rain? Many a time he had spent summers in his youth at Rivendell, confined only once or twice indoors due to the weather. Of course, Rivendell was located in a different climate then Gondor, but the simple fact is that mostly no one worries about sunny skies. It was still early spring at this time and so farmers invested their money and bought seed, which they then duly planted in their fields.

But by the end of spring only one shower had graced Minis Tirith, and then it had sped quickly onwards towards the ruined land of Mordor. People had no way of knowing that it would be the last rain shower experienced for a long time, the beginning to one of the worst droughts in the history of Gondor.

A month or two passed, and now the problem exploded into sight. Suddenly the palace was overwhelmed with worried farmers, the invested money gone to waste, along with their crops. It was as if they believed the king had some control over the weather, and thus could command the heavens for the rain his people needed.

Another month passed, Aragorn helped his people as best he could, but still more people flocked to his palace, complaining of dried wells, and of thin cattle. After another month had gone by and still no rain, Aragorn called his people to the courtyard and appeared before them. He asked them to conserve water carefully, to not be wasteful with what they had. He asked for their patience and strength during trying times, and that as long as each man looked out for his fellow brothers that he was sure that they would be fine until the rains of the winter season came. His people, rallied by what was a moving speech, took heart, and the palace remained free of complaints for some time.

Winter came, the rains did not.

And so it was that into the second month of winter, one could find the king, pacing quickly back and forth over the solid stone, his mind far away, pondering over how he could possibly bring water to his thirsty people. Last month the last of Gondor's mighty rivers had dried up. An order had gone to the people that all water was to become rationed. To the people who were left anyways. Many had opted to pack up their few belongings, and to move to find a place were planting and living would be fertile. They would have to travel all the way to the Shire to find it.

All over Middle Earth, from Gondor to Rohan, stretching all the way from Mirkwood to Fangorn to The Lonely Mountain, a horrible drought had descended. Trees withered, and became brittle and dry. The once green plains of Rohan were now seas of endless brown dead grass. And everywhere, times of hardship came down upon the people, instead of the rain they had hoped and prayed for. People everywhere despaired.

Until Aragorn arrived at the only solution he could find. They could not bring water down from the skies, but perhaps they could ship it up from the earth?

Messengers were sent bearing requests for help to the Dwarves, specifically, to an old friend of Aragorn's, Gimli, son of Gloin, now the master of the Glittering caves. Here, living naturally and peaceably underground, Gimli had not known how drastic the droughts effects had been to the surface dwellers. Deep underground they had ever flowing springs, mighty rivers, which never ran dry. When messengers arrived from Gondor requesting water, Gimli did not even hesitate, nor pause to think anything over.

Water was shipped out from the caves, and from other dwarven recesses in the earth. The water was channeled into tight-boarded barrels, which were lined with skin so that leakage was reduced to minimal amounts. Riders began making water runs back and forth between kingdoms, carrying with them the precious life giving liquid.

Aragorn was grateful. His people would be saved. Gimli had assured him that this water chain could be kept up indefinitely, until the drought passed. Times would be hard, but they now were livable even if they were tough. The king no longer had to pace in his study, heels clicking worriedly. The worst was finally passed.

Or so everyone thought.


	2. Clouds, yet no rain

_Clouds, Yet No Rain_

Aragorn stood outside, overlooking Minis Tirith from his bedroom balcony. The city was quiet, and mostly dark, with only few pinpricks of light reaching up to his gaze. Below him he could see his personal guards, changing shifts for the night. Behind him, he could hear his wife.

Arwen had gracefully entered the room, clothed in a blue silken dress, she was an exquisite site to behold. The blue dress covered her shoulders, but dipped low in the front. Yet her modesty was not compromised. Long flowing sleeves extended from the shoulders, at the ends of which, her strong, yet delicate, slender hands appeared. The dress flowed over her body, clinging to her waist, and then training out around her legs. A silver crown cut keenly and strikingly across her forehead, contrasting to her dark hair, which had made her notably beautiful amongst the elven folk. During her numerous years she had attracted many gazes, but the only man who had attracted her gaze in return was the one she had married. A mortal man. And she did not regret her choice.

She crossed the room, and came up behind Aragorn, standing besides him in the cool night air, her dress fluttering in the wind. He put his arm around her. A precious moment of peace, not recently enjoyed enough. He sighed. He moved as if he were to say something, but then decided against it. The sacredness of the moment was to sweet to be ruined by common speech.

Down below in the city, the last few lights had gone out. This time it was Arwen who sighed, one tinged with sadness. She loved her people as much as Aragorn, and as they suffered, so she felt for them a kindred suffering. She turned to her husband.

"They understand, they know that no king can command the skies. You should not be so hard on yourself." Then gracefully, she turned and entered the bedroom. After a few moments Aragorn followed. And so the night slowly passed.

* * *

While the night may have seemed to pass slowly in Gondor, in Mirkwood it had passed seemingly in the blink of an eye. It seemed only a moment from when Legolas had lain down to rest, when he was rising again to greet the harsh sun.

For indeed, the sun was deemed harsh in his eyes. The lack of rain had dried Mirkwood thoroughly. The trees were crying for water, which greatly distressed the elves in the kingdom. The trees were an essential part of their being, never was such a plant loved more dearly. And so the elves labored for them, filling bucketfuls of water from their rivers and quenching each tree's thirst as it arose. Unfortunately there were far more thirsty trees then elves. It was a losing battle. Trees who had been given a bucketful the previous day became thirsty again quite soon, but there were countless trees that had yet to receive even a drop of water. The elven folk had set for themselves an impossible task. And yet they labored under it night and day.

Which is why the night passed so quickly for Legolas. All day previously he had filled and carried water to the crying sources. Although the work was not especially difficult, it was especially tiresome. And after a while one's back does become sore from bending repetitiously.

Legolas rose from his bed and dressed. His golden hair was braided back from his face, and then left to hang down past his shoulders. He had bathed the previous night so as to wash away his sweat. His skin gleamed. After lacing his boots tightly, he went downstairs, snatched a bite of Lembas from the kitchen, and then entered into the forest.  
The crying of the trees assaulted his delicately pointed ears. They also pierced his heart.

Without resentment or any sign of laziness he choose a bucket from one of the piles located throughout the kingdom, and started another day's labor. His keen, blue eyes only too sharply noticed the dryness and brittleness of the branches that passed over his head. He knew in his mind that the elves were failing in their self appointed task, and in his heart worry festered.

* * *

Across Middle Earth, the third companion of the trio, Gimli, was also laboring to carry water. Except that he did not go to every individual person in Gondor and Rohan who was thirsty and give them a drink, but rather, it was his job to oversea the barreling of the water from the rivers, and then to send that precious water on it's way to the regions. Mirkwood's rivers were still flowing, from the influence of the elves, and so they had not written for assistance yet.

Gimli's days consisted of walking down to the newly erected barreling center, and to inspect the jobs that his fellow dwarves were performing. Barrels were filled completely to the brim, and hauled out of the river. A dwarf would seal the barrel's top, and roll it over to another dwarf who stood waiting to roll it into dark caves, so that the water would remain cool. Yet another dwarf would roll the barrel to the surface when the time came to load the wagons. After spending an hour or two, or three down by the filling area, he would hasten up to the surface to meet to riders arriving that day. He would oversea the loading of the barrels into the wagons, offering refreshments to the riders while this was taking place, and then would see the riders on their way, often with a note to the ruler of the destined country.

On the morning of one such day, he told his high general that he wished to set out for Gondor, to see Aragorn, and to see how the lands were getting on. He accompanied the next group of riders back to Gondor. To the dwarf who had been living in the cool caves for the entire drought, the drastic changes that had been produced in the land were shocking to him as he traveled.

Aragorn was in his throne room, the day they arrived. This next shipment of water was to go to the north side of the city. The city had been divided into four sections, North, South, East and West. Each in their turn received a month's supply of water, to be carefully rationed out to people. By the time when the section's water supply was almost out, it was planned so that their turn would be next for the new water shipment.

When the group arrived, riding up to the palace, Aragorn entered into the courtyard to greet the contingent. He in turn was greeted with an unexpected surprise of the son of Gloin scrambling down from a small horse.

"Gimli! It is good to see you my friend." The two friends clapped shoulders and began walking towards the palace. Long ago the distribution of water to the districts had become routine, requiring little of the king's supervision.

"Ah, I decided that I needed to see the effects of the drought myself. I have to admit, it is much cooler in the caves."

"Something which better not ever reach the ears of my people, or I fear I shall be left with naught but a deserted city."

"And I with housing problems. Ah, my lady!" If this last statement seems a tad confusing, allow your mind to be at ease by knowing that this was uttered as the Lady Arwen entered the courtyard. She was gowned in robes of white, providing rich contrast to her shadow black hair. Gimli knelt respectively, and she smiled at him. He rose, and the three friends strolled out to the edge of the courtyard to gaze across the landscape of Gondor. Suddenly Aragorn's spirits were raised. He pointed widely to his wife and friend.

"Look! Dark clouds gather! Perhaps the end of this horrific drought finally approaches!" His eyes were filled with hope, as well as Arwen's.

"Well," grumbled Gimli, "it is better that the winter rains come late, in the spring, then never at all."

All that day the three found themselves drawn to the outdoors, or to windows, to watch the progress of the rapidly moving clouds. By evening the entire sky was dark, the clouds stretched to the horizon. Wind stirred through the air, but Gimli seemed downcast.

Aragorn turned to him, "What is wrong my friend?"

The dwarf sighed, "Aragorn, there is no smell of rain in these clouds." Indeed, there was not even a hint of moisture in the air. The clouds, Aragorn realized, actually seemed full of a dangerous energy, and a dreadful tenseness was felt throughout the city. Everyone seemed poised on a moment of time stretch indefinitely, waiting for the moment, when the tension would snap.

It finally did. At last, far out on the plains, when one shielded their eyes with their hands and looked hard, they could see the storm that the clouds carried in them. Great bolts of light crashed against the earth, thunder rumbled like the evil drums from the old battles. Long into the night, and into the next day, and the next the lightning and thunder continued. Speech was constantly interrupted and jarred by thunderous crashes. Yet the lighting did not reach Minis Tirith, it was traveling in the other direction. For this, Aragorn was glad, he would not have to worry about the effects this strange storm might have on his city. How very wrong he was.

On the forth day of this far distant storm, an effect of it froze Aragorn's heart with icy fear. There was heavy smoke on the horizon.

* * *

I hope this has entertained someone. I'm working on chapter two, a review of the beginning would be very appreciative however! Thanks for reading this far. 


	3. Increasing Troubles

Wow! Thanks so much for the reviews!! ( I have to admit that my knowledge of the Elvish language is extremely little, and therefore I have the elves speak in common tongue to each other. (just pretend it's in elvish please!) 

Also, when I went to the site to see if my story was posted yet I discovered I couldn't access the first chapter, which made me worry that no one had access to the first chapter. So I was panicked until reviews came, which indicated that you guys had all read the first chapter so thank you so much! Now I can update in peace.

So without further dilly dally.

_Increasing Troubles_

The very day that Gimli had decided to travel to Gondor, Legolas was found still laboring under the task of carrying water. But since we had last seen him his heart had grown much heavier. He knew with certainty that if rain did not come soon, trees would die.

He slowly carried the water over to where a tree stood, piteously crying. He drizzled the liquid over the roots, which greedily took in all the elf had to offer. Legolas gave a sad smile to the tree, and leaned his hand up against the bark. An ancient feeling entered his bones. It is the same feeling one gets when standing in the tall, grassy dunes, staring out to the sea, and feeling the salty wind on your face. There is no other thought on your mind, but the beauty of the sea, and the feeling of the wind on a cloudy day. So it was with the tree, only that this time there was a pang of thirst, a dryness that closed Legolas's throat and parched his lips, and a brittleness, which he suddenly felt inside himself.

He removed his hand and the feelings faded but for the distant memory of what they had been. He rubbed his hand thoughtfully between his fingers, feeling the tree's brittleness in them. He did not like the feeling. He turned from the tree and headed towards the riverbanks.

As he approached the river, yet still many strides from it, his elven ears began to pick up the sounds of flowing water, and the music that is the language of the elves. As he stepped onto the banks, now a tad trampled even from the light-footed elves, he cast his eyes around to see who else was there.

Two elven maids farther down the stream were filling their buckets, and another elf was doing the same across from them. As the buckets were filled, their owners headed off into the forest, and new elves took their place. But it was not the women who interested Legolas's eye. His eye was resting on the other elf, whom he recognized.

"Tanvir!"

The elf in question looked up, saw who had called out his name, and then grinned. As Legolas walked over to him, he bent low, and cupping a handful of water from the stream, flicked a little at the elven prince.

"Don't. How can you play around with something so precious today, so foolishly? Not even a drop can be wasted."

Tanvir's grin faded a little, "You are right. I stand properly ashamed of myself." He grin had resurfaced. Legolas was tempted to push him into the stream, but restrained himself by reflecting on what he had just said.

"Where have you been?"

"I was assigned to the trees that bear up our flets. I have been walking in and out of the main gathering area all day, carrying bucketfuls, and listening to your father's advisors squabble about this whole mess."

"Advisors indeed. Father never really listens to them."

"You mean, you never really listen to them, but come," he cut off Legolas's move to make a retort, "we're blocking the way, let us fill our buckets and move on. We can talk more privately in the woods."

The two elves bent low, and after having gathered as much water a possible, turned back into the tress each so dearly loved.

Tanvir had long been associated with the royal family. Although it is important to note that he was not royal himself. Yet he was amongst one of Legolas's most treasured companions. He was tall, but that doesn't say much as all elves are tall to some degree. And his frame was slender and full of the sense of energy. Yet this trait is also present in many elves. What made him distinctly unique was his attitude. Tanvir had been raised by his mother, one of the few elves remaining who still refused to settle in any one of the elven dwellings. These elves instead wandered constantly, much like gypsies today. Tanvir, when brought to Mirkwood at the tender age of 1,347 had fallen in love with the trees, and so decided to stay. Sometime during those early years of new residency he had managed to bump into Legolas and the two had formed a strong friendship.

The wandering elves had rubbed off on Tanvir though, and compared to the other elven folk, Tanvir was something of the local rebel that drew gazes from the fairer sex. Oh, when the time called for it, he could be as solemn as anyone, but not often did he see such a time. He was considered even more unruly than Legolas, and the two often delighted in running away on unplanned hunting trips, throwing the palace into chaos. Still, Tanvir was always welcome in the house of the king.

Now as they walked, the two fell into the comfortable silence that being in the company of an old friend brings. It was a while before either had spoke. Then Tanvir shattered the peace.

"You know, these efforts are fruitless."

"Yes, I know." Neither friend looked at each other.

"Perhaps...perhaps we should write to the dwarves? The extra water would be a blessing."

Legolas sighed, he had gone over this point with his father only yesterday. He had entered into the chambers to see his father talking swiftly with his advisors.

Legolas coughed respectfully and his father looked up. Seeing him he turned to the other elves, "Excuse us please."

After they were alone, Legolas moved forward, "Adar, the rivers still run, but if the weather continues they will not run forever. Have you not given this any consideration?"

The king sighed, "My mind has dwelt much on the topic my son. Do you think me blind to the effects of this drought upon our land?"

Legolas flushed, he had not meant to insult his father, "Then allow me to send word to the glittering caves. I fear the time is drawing near when we shall have to call upon their assistance."

The only response he received was, "We do not need any help the dwarves have to offer."

Legolas sighed. His father still had not been able to move past the idea that dwarves were a good for nothing race with only a few exceptions here and there. His pride would not allow him to reconsider his statement.

"Then I fear that you may one day regret this decision."

His father snorted. Legolas bade his respects and then left.

To be fair to the Elvenking, he had not been presented with any evidence to contradict his way of thinking. This was before the times that through the efforts of Gimli and Legolas, the two separate kingdoms had become invaluable allies. In the present, all dwarves that had been presented before the king had acted in just the way he had expected them to. And in their eyes, his behavior was exactly what they had predicted. There were still many years until the chords of distrust and bigotry were to be broken.

Legolas thought carefully before he answered his friend, "I have already discussed such options with my father Tanvir. His response is the same as it would have been fifty or a thousand years ago."

"So that would be 'no' then, am I right?"

Legolas nodded.

Tanvir hesitated, and then spoke, "You should write to the dwarves anyways."

Legolas glanced at him sharply. He had in fact, been entertaining that idea for some time. Yet the situation was not yet that desperate, and he did not yet wish to create trouble between himself and his father. For all his faults, and for all of Legolas's actions, the two were still father and son, and they shared a bond of love as such.

Legolas didn't answer Tanvir, and Tanvir didn't press the matter. He knew his friend well enough by now, to know that the idea had not been dismissed from the prince's mind.  
For the remainder of the day, the two friends carried water together, sometimes talking, but mostly just working in quiet. Each felt that they had reached a brink of some sort, and were waiting to see what the times ahead would bring.

* * *

A tremendous boom rang through the palace walls, jerking Legolas to full wakefulness. For a second he forgot where he was and thought for an instant that the thunder he had heard was the sound of an orc drum. He had already sprung from the bed and was reaching for his white knives before he remembered just exactly the present day situation.

All day previously, clouds had been spotted gathering in the east, and then moving ever closer across the west. By midday the sky above was completely darkened with them. Towards the evening Legolas had gone inside to retire for the night, and so had not been present when scouts reported seeing flashes of light across the plains.

But no scouts were needed to report the thunder. It reported itself, with crashing bangs that disturbed the whole household. Thunderous rolling ripped through the forest, and strong winds blew through the trees, ripping off the dead leaves and scattering them. It seemed that in the few hours he had rested the heart of the storm had moved much closer to home.

Legolas had not known how much closer though, until he had dressed and walked outside, to stand with his father in their own courtyard. The storm, to his shock, had moved to almost directly over their forest.

* * *

The elves were not the only ones to notice the new positioning of the storm. Aragorn was much too far away to estimate it's position, but the fleet of corsair ships that sailed up the coast was not.

The captain had been called up to the deck, by request of his second in command, Urgsha. Without saying anything for the moment, Urgsha had pointed his Captain's gaze over to the storm. After giving the captain a few seconds to consider the sight, he spoke up.

"It is directly over the forest sir. By where the elven folk live."

"So it seems." The voice that spoke the response was one the crew had come to learn to respect and fear. It was icy and smooth. The eyes were narrowed as the captain turned to Urgsha, "Keep me informed of what develops. Continue this course." He re-entered his cabin.

Urgsha, a large, burley man, stood up on deck, watching the woods with anticipation. He knew what this storm could possibly mean, and the ideas of all that gold excited him.

* * *

Legolas was close by when it happened. He had been standing with his father when a flash of light had momentarily blinded him. A second later, a huge crash of thunder had deafened his ears. Yet it had not even taken him a second to know.

Somewhere in the forest a tree was burning.

Its screams of agony were heartbreaking to listen to. The panic of the trees around it was almost overwhelming. Legolas hurried out of the palace, shouting orders to guards as he went. His father was behind him, doing the same.

He had not even reached the bottom of the stairs before he knew that the fire had spread. By the time he reached the gate to the forest he knew that the fire was already spreading rapidly out of control.

He shouted to the guards, "Find the flames and douse them! Gather others to assist. Have the women collect rags and soak them in the river. Have men clear away any underbrush in range of the burning site. Hurry, we must stop this before it spreads!"

Guards ran every which way, hurrying to carry out the orders. The point of where the lighting had struck was discovered, and far in the middle of the forest a dim light could be seen. Smoke was quickly expanding across the sky, and the fire spread as swiftly as the wind. No other thoughts were on his mind then to halt the inferno quickly as Legolas ran directly towards where the fire burned.

* * *

As Legolas's mind was consumed with one thought, so was the corsair captain's. He had been called up again, and had instantly seen why. Already smoke was obstructing his view of the forest. He grinned.

He turned to Urgsha, "Have the men prepare for combat. Steer our ships towards the river outlets to the sea, we shall sail up them as far as possible, and then cover the remaining distance on land. I plan to see many elven slaves in our hold by the time this fire has burnt itself out."

Urgsha grinned, "Aye sir. I shall see to it."

The ships turned upon their altered course. They were but a day's sail away from the first river outlet. River's which would lead them to the heart of Mirkwood.

* * *

As Legolas ran he felt it. The original tree, a great oak terribly dry from the lack of rain, had fallen silent. But it was more than that. His entire presence had vanished. And Legolas knew the tree was dead. It had gone out in a great burst of ashes and showering sparks. Sparks that quickly caught on the withered leaves of other branches. The tiny sparks led to roaring fires, which led to new branches being caught anew. And so, less than ten minutes after the first initial strike, Mirkwood was ablaze. 


	4. Enter the Corsairs

Before I start, I have a few comments. 

That in the previous chapter I did mean to use adar, "father" and not Arda, "earth" (bangs hand against forehead stupid, stupid typo. Why would Legolas call his father earth?) I shall try to fix it as soon as I figure out how.

Also that these next coming up chapters might take a little longer to update. As I was going through my daily hygiene rituals a whole new plot line in the story came to my mind, so I now have to figure out how to work it in. I have to figure which character I want to kill, and just how exactly I want him/her to die. (but I'm not saying who, na na na na na na) (or maybe I'm just teasing you guys, hm?)

Distances: Here are the distances as I see them. The least amount of time it would take to get to Mirkwood from Minas Tirith would be four days. Three from the glittering caves. I have based this off of the distance that Gandalf says it takes to ride from Edoras to Minas Tirith, which is three days. All times are totally estimated, but they work for me.

Last comment, promise. In this chapter I do not want anyone to get the impression that I am making Aragorn act in a cowardly way, or that I think Aragorn is a coward, because he is NOT!!! He is acting as any good king should act by weighing his peoples' needs before his own.

Thanks for the reviews! You guys are so nice! So here's chapter 3.

_Enter the Corsairs_

"I cannot abandon my own city and people simply for smoke from a prairie fire."

"Aragorn, my heart tells me that this is no prairie fire. It is much more serious. Yes, you are the king, but after the next shipment of water arrives, for two weeks you have no other pressing matters."

"I cannot leave my people without leadership..."

"Do you think that being married to you means nothing? I am the queen, Aragorn, I shall provide what leadership is needed. Your place belongs out on the plains. You must find out how serious the fires are. It is your duty to your people," she threw Aragorn's words back at him, "to make sure this situation does not pose them any danger."

Aragorn looked at his wife. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes snappy and bright. As soon as she had spotted the smoke she had demanded that Aragorn ride out to investigate it. Aragorn had wanted to, but was worried about his responsibilities as king and that he might be overstepping limits of what even the high king of men can do. But now Arwen had found his justification. It was true that he would need to know the position of the fire in order to be able to judge its level of danger. And in order to know the position he would have to ride out to it. He smiled at his wife and was glad he had married a wise woman.

"Then I shall leave as soon as the water arrives."

"Will you take any guards?"

"I shall take Gimli with me, who is more dangerous then ten of my guards put together."

"I have not need to worry then. I will have your horses readied."

* * *

The crew had been summoned. Each individual sailor knew why. They had not yet reached the river's outlet into the sea, and would not reach it that day. Technically, it was not their fault. The winds had died out in the afternoon, and had not picked up again until much later that evening. But the damage had been enough to slow them down to half a day behind. While serving aboard with this particular captain, half a day behind was not acceptable.

No one knew exactly where he came from, or his background. They only knew his name, Sanul, and that he was a harsh, demanding person who gave no mercy. And now they were about to face that less than pleasant aspect of him.

Where he stood they couldn't exactly make out. He was wearing his cloak, his most treasured possession. While wearing it he blended perfectly into shadow and it cast off him a sphere of darkness. Only the green of his eyes could be seen, they glowed an evil light in the dark. The only thing else visible was his hair's silhouette as it was whipped around by the wind. He was tall, and his voice was always cold. He rarely ever spoke directly to the crew, for which they were thankful. Instead, all his orders were passed to Urgsha, who then gave the commands. His ships were perhaps some of the most widely feared slave vessels that sailed along the coast.

He spoke. The crew flinched at his tone. "I thought I had given orders for the river's outlet to be reached by now."

Urgsha made the mistake of trying to explain, "Sir, it was really just bad luck..." Sanul turned his gaze towards him, his green eyes burning, "the men...they were trying..." Urgsha quickly trailed off under the stare.

"I expect those on my ship to obey my orders. You fools are letting this opportunity disappear. Do you not want the gold that elven slaves will fetch?"

The crew still couldn't move.

"There will be no grog rations for tonight, and you Urgsha, shall come with me into my cabin."

The crew breathed a collective sigh of relief. They had been left off easy with a minor punishment, it was Urgsha who was the one really in trouble. It had been his responsibility to see the orders carried out correctly. The crew snickered amongst each other as they watched Urgsha's trembling form follow the Captain below.

* * *

Urgsha tried hard not to look around the cabin as he entered. He did not know where IT was, but IT was the last thing he wished to see. He was of course, thinking about Sanul's second most treasured possession, his weapon of choice.

IT was a long black whip, which at the end, broke off into three separate branches. Attached to these branches were mithril tips, sharp enough to pierce through dragon hide. Each tip was poisoned. There was no antidote. It was his long-range weapon.

His short-range weapon was his third most treasured object. This weapon was a sharp sword, sheathed in a black case that he always wore. The sword was perfectly balanced for him, and its blade was strong, made from the same metal as Legolas's white knives. Although the tip of it was not poisoned, it still delivered deadly fates.  
Urgsha hoped fervently that it would not deliver his tonight. His captain faced him.

"Why should I not kill you now?"

Urgsha choked. He throat closed up and all he could manage was a little squeal of fear.

"I give you three seconds to answer me."

Suddenly he found his voice, "Sir, sir! Please, I beseech you, spare me! Killing me would cut into your profits, I am good servant." Tears streamed down Urgsha's face. Sanul pulled out his sword.

"Not that valuable, and not that good."

"Sir! Sir! I... no wait!! I shall bring you something. From the raid! Yes! I shall find something most valuable, something that will bring you great riches! I shall make my way to the palace and loot it while the other men capture your slaves. Think of it, the king of Mirkwood has hoarded away many precious treasures. I shall bring them to you!" Urgsha knelt before the captain. "Please!" he whispered.

Sanul paused, considering it. It was true that the Elvenking had great riches no mortal man had ever seen. Yet never before had an opportunity rose for the hoard to be plundered. As for his part, Sanul had no desire to enter into the palace. He had heard too many rumors about the magical enchantments of the elves to go inside. For truly in his heart he was a coward. But he had no qualms about sending others into danger. He lowered his sword.

Urgsha burst into grateful tears. "Oh thank-you, thank-you sir." He reached out to kiss the cloak's edge. Sanul pulled it back.

"Do not touch it."

Urgsha nodded frantically, "Yes sir! I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'll do exactly as you command."

"You will not fail me in your word. After we have raided I shall expect the great riches of your labors to be presented. Or else it will be your head to the sharks. Now get out. I will expect us at the river's outlet by dawn, or I shall kill you and appoint another to fulfill your role."

Urgsha nodded and scrambled out. In many ways he was like his master, a coward at heart. By the time he had reappeared on deck he had regained his composure. He barked orders at the crew, threatening to pull their shares of the profit if they didn't get going in double quick time. The Corsairs picked up their pace. The wind was with them again.

* * *

The water had arrived and had been distributed. Aragorn knew that the time to leave was now. Calling Gimli, they both hurried out to the stables, the clicks their heels made heard by the servant four stories up who was washing the stone steps. Arwen accompanied them.

Two horses were prepared, and Aragorn swung easily up onto his steed. All horses seemed to enjoy his presence and bear him easily. The horse he rode today was a brown one known as Drano, with the 'r' rolled a bit. Gimli was to ride Arod, the horse most comfortable bearing him, as he had ridden him often while clutching Legolas's waist. Aragorn smirked at his grumbling. It was funny to watch the dwarf try to get up all by himself, stubbornly refusing any assistance.

Finally he discovered a way. Leading the horse over by the stable wall, he climbed up and balanced on the edge. Then after taking a steadying breath, he leaped out to land upon the horse. Aragorn had to laugh as the horse calmly sidestepped and the dwarf fell once again on the ground. A sparkle was in Arwen's eyes.

Gimli growled, "It's that stupid elf's influence! It's turned a good beast into a wild creature!"

Aragorn snorted while turning his head to look out at the sun. Abruptly he decided that stubborn dwarf or not, they had to leave soon. He walked his horse over to where Gimli was, and pulled the dwarf up onto Arod's saddle. "Come my friend. You are no elf rider, but perhaps we shall make you as good as one yet? One of these days Legolas shall have to teach you how to mount by yourself."

He got a grumbled response about horses and dwarfs and how it was dangerous to mix the two together.

Aragorn walked Drano over to where Arwen stood. Their eyes met. Slowly as he leaned down, she leaned up and their lips met in a soft kiss.

They pulled away from each other. No words were needed to express what they had to say. Arwen nodded at him, and he turned, kicked his heels up against his horse, galloped out of the stable, down through Minas Tirith, and then out of the city and into the wild, riding towards the smoke on the horizon. Gimli was right behind.

Arwen watched them go, then turned and climbed the steps that led back into the palace.

* * *

To Aragorn, the smoke indeed was on the horizon. To Legolas it was surrounding and blinding him. The smoke was everywhere, stinging his eyes and causing them to tear. Of course, some of the tears were natural ones, cried for the lost trees. His eyes were red from a combination of smoke and grief.

The smoke also managed to make breathing next to impossible. No deep breaths could be drawn without a coughing fit soon to follow. Only when crouched down inches off the ground could one find a place to get somewhat filtered air. But this did them no good, as they couldn't fight the fires from the forest floor.

For that was what they were doing. Drawing upon every elf in the kingdom, Thranduil had ordered for the fire's advancement to be stopped at all costs. The order was only a formality though. No other thought had been on the elves' minds since the lighting had struck the first tree.

They had divided themselves mainly into four groups. Mostly it was women who ran to form water chains from the rivers out to the fires. Another group was formed to clear away underbrush as quickly and efficiently as possible. The third group, and the largest one, directly fought against the fire in hot sweaty battles. Sometimes beating it back with rags, sometimes with water thrown from the buckets. The forth group was composed of elves who had finally reached the ends of their limits and so were allowed a period of rest, lasting about five to six hours. Thranduil was no fool, and knew that even his own race had not inexhaustible supplies of energy. The elves entered this group randomly from the other three. The honor and dedication of the elves made sure no one abused this. Each time one elf entered the deemed area, another one would rise and leave to work. One group of elves had started there, and then as the others started to tire, they intermixed themselves into the fighting areas.

This had all happened after it became apparent that it was going to take much more effort to stop this fire then they had anticipated. At first, as Legolas had ran towards the site, it had seemed that maybe the flames would be easily contained if only they could get there in time before it spread.

They had not got there in time. For once, the fleet-footedness of their race had failed them, when it had mattered the most. Well, perhaps there was only one other time when that sort of speed was such desperately needed, but that comes later in this tale.

Legolas had fallen into the group directly fighting the fire. So had Tanvir. Day and night they labored hard, beating wet rags against the flames, sometimes being burned themselves. Legolas had stripped off his cloak running to the site, and by now, fighting in the intense heat, he had spared a precious second to pull of his green tunic, fighting the fire now in his white one that he always wore under the green. He did not know for sure, but suspected that his cloak had long since been made into rags to soak. Sweat trickled down his face and neck, also stinging his eyes as the smoke constantly did. The intensity of the heat made his entire face flush and his hair to hang limply and damp against his shoulders. Black streaks of soot marked his skin, and his clothing was taking on a decidedly grey cast from the amount of ash in the air. He was tired, but still fought on, not having quite reached his limit, which he said would be when he could no longer stand and lift the rag. He was fighting on the side away from the water chain. The side that was most rapidly approaching their living areas.

Tanvir had run out with him also to get a rag, but since then had become separated from his friend. He too was fighting with all he had. His black hair had been pulled back from his face, and he had also removed extra layers of clothing. He was currently fighting the inferno with rags that had been made from Legolas's cloak. Even though neither elf could see each other, in reality they were only a few trees separated. Other elves stood in between them though, so it was that each other's position remained uncertain.

The fire was eating the woods alive. The drought had ripened the trees up for kindling. It took hardly a few seconds for the fire to spread from tree to tree, already about an eighth of Mirkwood had gone up into flames, leaving behind a field of ashes. Perhaps that number sounds small, but when you translate it into a countless number of trees, it means that already hundreds had burned and hundreds were still burning.

This had been going on now for about four days, and only by the efforts of the elves had the fire not spread faster. Now as another wind pick up the elves redoubled their energy, matching the fire's rage with one of their own.

* * *

Aragorn halted his horse. He could simply not believe his eyes. It had been around four days of the hardest riding he had ever done in his life, and now he could finally see the source of the smoke. And couldn't believe it.

All the time he rode he had been sure that over the next hilltop he would see the fire, stretching out across the plain. And each time there had been nothing, only thicker smoke forming ahead. And now when he saw at last the fire's location he quite simply felt sick. He had sat around in his palace while his friend's home had been burning. Of course Legolas would never have looked at the situation in that way, but Aragorn was not thinking of that. He was furious with himself. He had not brought with him extra men, therefore he could not ride down into the forest now to help the elves. He would have to turn back and ride all the to Minas Tirith and then ride all the way back with the men before he could be of any real assistance. That would take over a week, without rest.

Gimli too was cursing himself. He all too clearly understood that they were in a position to do nothing, yet he hated the idea of even a temporary retreat. He suddenly had a thought. "Aragorn-"

"We shall have to ride back to Gondor." The ranger's voice was laced with frustration. "We shall have to turn our backs upon our friend."

"But perhaps not both backs? Would you allow me to ride down there and give them news that you are on your way?"

Aragorn nodded, realizing that that was the best they could do for now. He would return to Gondor alone.

As he reeled his horse around Gimli had another thought, "Aragorn, send messages to the caves, on my authorization ask for them to bring as much water as possible to Mirkwood. They shall be able to help in that way."

"I have a feeling that such help will be needed before the end." The king spoke to his horse, "Hah Drano, come on!" He again kicked his heels against the horse, hoping that Legolas would forgive him his retreat. He galloped off, almost faster than the wind. Gimli to continued, down the hill and into the burning woods.

* * *

Legolas looked down at the rag he was using, it was nearly gone. Fires burned all around him, it's light gleaming in his eyes. His white teeth shone out sharply against his dirty face as his gritted them with all the determination he could muster. There were numerous burns on his tunic, but he ignored all else but stopping the advancement of the blaze. Searching around quickly he found another rag and making sure that it was soaked through, returned to the flames.

Sanul stood up on the deck of his ship. He was grinning although his men couldn't see it. This time no bad luck had conspired against his crew. They had reached the outlet a day ago, and were now making their way up the old forest river. Trees had begun to become more and more numerous the farther they had sailed in. Now they were only a few hours away from reaching the area that burned. He had Urgsha lower the sails, and start the slaves rowing down in the hold. It would take a little longer maybe, but their position would remain a secret.

The Corsairs had entered Mirkwood.


	5. The Battle of Mirkwood

Okay, after going through this chapter again and again, editing, typing, rewriting, and deleting, I finally think it's ready. I hope I don't disappoint. I had wanted the original title of this chapter to be "Just when you thought that it couldn't get any worse," but then realized that that was kind of a long chapter title, so I shortened it down. 

Also, I am visiting my dad this weekend. My dad, who unfortunately does not own a computer. :( So I can't update again until I get back Sunday, which means the next update will probably be this Monday or later.

And I know this is starting to sound redundant, but you guys are all so awesome with your reviews. They make me very happy:)

Now onto the next chapter.

_The Battle of Mirkwood_

They fled from the flames, hurrying as fast as they could along the ground and across the treetops. At first the fire had been right upon them, touching the ends of their feet with every step, but ultimately they were faster.

The fire had consumed their old dwellings, and now they worried that they would be unable to find new ones. And so an unofficial gathering was called, only the second one ever held where all groups were in alliance. Such a meeting had only been held once before when they had decided to move into the forest. But they all saw the necessity of the meeting this time. Their efforts would have to become coordinated in order for all to profit.

Their plans were really quite simple. A few stings here, a few there. An elf or two would go missing, being dragged off quietly into the nests. It would go unnoticed by the others, whose attention rested on driving the fire back and nothing else. What had at first seemed like a disaster was really a wonderful opportunity for fresh meat. And blood.

* * *

Legolas was resting. Whether this was because he finally could no longer stand, or because someone had managed to force him to lie down, this tale does not reveal. The point is that after nearly going for four days, fighting harder than he had ever before, in extreme conditions, had worn the elf out. He sleep was not quiet though.

He was lying on a cot in the rest area. Some twenty other elves surrounded him, also resting. None of them were sleeping any better than their prince. The crying of the trees penetrated their very dreams.

For Legolas this crying took the image of a dark field of ashes, in which he was wandering, eternally lost, his feet leaving no prints behind him. In the face of this utter destruction all he could think was that elves can 'walk upon the ash'. The thought echoed in the air around him. As he walked he spotted something lying ahead. He hurried over to it. It was a leaf, a healthy green one at that. Yet as he watched, it burst into flame, withered, browned, and then added its remains to the great field. The leaf was gone forever.

He woke with a start. Four hours and a half had passed since he had first lain down. Now he sat up on the cot and looked around him. Other elves were turning and muttering, lost in their own dreams. He abruptly decided that he had quite enough rest, and went to get a small drink before returning to defend the woods. The image of the leaf haunted his thoughts.

As he left, Tanvir walked in. He appeared as exhausted as Legolas had been, yet reluctant to leave. In fact, that's pretty much how every elf looked entering the space cleared for cots. It was almost a feeling of guilt, even though they all knew that the rest was necessary.

The two friends clasped each other's lower arms in greeting, and for a moment, they had a chance to talk. It turned out that Tanvir wasn't there to rest at all, but rather to find the prince.

"Legolas, I have heard that you've talked to your father again?"

"Two days ago." The elf couldn't look at his friend.

"And? What was his answer?"

"He still does not wish for aid."

Tanvir looked furious. "It doesn't matter what he wishes for now! Without help this entire forest will burn! Please tell me that you are going to send for help anyways, if you have not already done so."

Before Legolas could respond, a murmur ran through the elves standing around them. A white horse was galloping through the forest, and upon his back sat someone who Legolas recognized in an instant. For a moment Legolas smiled. His first one for days. It was very funny watching Gimli try to ride Arod by himself.

Tanvir smiled also, "I guess that answers my question."

Legolas turned around, surprise on his face, "But I have not sent for..." It was no use, Tanvir wasn't listening to him. He was hurrying off to greet the dwarf. After a moment, Legolas recovered from his shock and followed.

The dwarf saw him approach. "Legolas, my lad," he was out of breath from riding through the smoke. He paused for a moment to cough. "I have news," more coughing, "it's important."

"Come on, ride the horse this way, towards the stables. In fact, dismount first. The lower to the ground, the less thick the smoke." Legolas moved forward to hold Arod's reins, and Gimli half dismounted and half fell from the horse.

"Aye, it's better down off his back, but not by much." Arod snorted, and stamped his legs as if to say he had done the best he could.

Tanvir stroked his head and whispered something in his ear. The three of them hurriedly moved towards the stables.

Gimli spoke as they walked along, explaining what had been going on outside of Mirkwood while the forest had been burning. As Tanvir went in to stable the horse, Legolas and Gimli remained outside talking. "I'm afraid that my arrival is not as much help as it could have been, but Aragorn even now is riding back to bring aid from Gondor and the Glittering caves. They will come with all possible haste."

Legolas looked down at him, relief in his eyes, "That is indeed good news Master Dwarf. I owe you and Aragorn a large debt of gratitude."

The dwarf snorted, "You can repay it by allowing me a small drink before we tackle the flames."

Legolas grinned, "That is easily done for you my friend. But savor the water while you have it, it is heavily rationed."

Gimli nodded as Tanvir exited from the stables. The three hurried back in the direction they had come, Gimli introducing himself to the prince's friend.

Tanvir had heard Legolas mention his dwarven friend before, and had always wished that someday he might be able to meet this dwarf whom his friend held in so high respect. The two shook hands, locking eyes with each other. What passed between them was unsure, but after that they seemed to have an understanding between them. It was as if they both had known instantly that they had met the heart of a fellow warrior, and so respect for the other one came naturally.

* * *

The blades were sharpened, the slaves returned to their chains below, and now all the crew waited for was the word from the captain to begin. The ships had sailed up as far as possible, hidden in the dense smoke. It would only take them around an hour to move into their attack positions. Scouts had gone ahead and reported that most all elves were only focusing on the spreading fires. If they moved and attacked correctly, the battle would really be over before it would have a chance to begin.

Sanul came up onto the deck and looked over his crew. Once more he spoke directly to them, "Many of the elves will resist once they realize what is going on. Do not fret that if you kill them it will cut into the profits. There will be plenty of women and others left over from the fighting to make you rich men for the rest of your lives."

The crew nodded their understanding. Sanul turned to Urgsha, and gave a quick nod with his head. Urgsha moved forward. "Lower the planks!"

They were lowered.

"Move out!"

And so the crew turned and, positively leaping off the ship, ran into the trees, trying their best to move swiftly, but silently, hiding in shadows whenever they could. Urgsha now looked at the remainder of men left behind to guard the other slaves. He issued last orders to them and then followed the rest of the crew. The guards looked around nervously.

One spoke up, "Just our luck eh? We're stuck behind, with these 'ere prisoners, and won't be able to catch no new ones for the profit!"

The other one looked around nervously and hissed, "Stop yer grumbling! Do you want him to here yer?"

"Fool! He's not on the ship. In that 'ole cloak of his he slipped off. I fancy he's going to catch many a pointed ear pretty face before this raid gets done with. That'll be one more than we get."

"Fool yourself! All crew gets cuts in the profit, even if yer don't raid. It's natural law that is. So be glad the 'ole boss is out there peggin' em down. What it means is that we get the money, without havin to move from the ship, and without havin to face the elven blades."

It was true that Sanul was not on the ship. But it was not true that he planned to have to fight directly with the elves. He was headed towards them, as the crew was, only he was much better at hiding in the shadows. Shadows which he planned to strike out from in ambush.

* * *

Drano was becoming tired. Aragorn could tell by the way the horse's rhythm had changed. It was subtle, but noticeable. He cursed himself again. His mind kept coming back to one thought, 'if only I had brought some men!' yet the cruel reality was that he had not.

He knew that Drano would have to rest. He pulled the reins, stopping the horse, and dismounted, walking the horse slowly to cool him down. Afterwards he rubbed down the legs and fore chest with the saddlecloth, and readjusted the bits in the mouth. He was in a hurry, but the horse had to be cared for properly, or it would only costs him more delays later on. He knew that he would be riding Brego, who was much faster, back to the forest. Brego would run his heart out when asked to.

Satisfied that the horse had been given sufficient time to steady it's breathing, Aragorn mounted again, and soon horse and rider were flying across the plains on their desperate errand.

But not five hours later, once again Aragorn had to stop, dismount, walk the horse, rub the legs and fore chest and adjust the bridal and bits. This time food and water were also presented to Drano, who took both greedily. After waiting some more, Aragorn jumped up and moved Drano quickly into a gallop. Now another thought entered the king's mind. _I should have rode into Mirkwood and borrowed an elven horse! Drano is already tired from galloping here, I should have rested him in the Mirkwood stables!_ Again he cursed himself in frustration. He urged Drano a little harder, and spoke to him, asking him to run faster.

As if he could really hear him, the horse put on an extra burst of speed.

* * *

Legolas was back with the rag. He was beating at the flames mercilessly, waiting for the maid with the water to run over. The bucket chain had moved over to his side now, and the water was a great advantage. Tanvir had moved over to a different area, but Gimli was toiling beside him, digging a dry ditch, and clearing away the underbrush. Since they had returned from the stables to fight the fire, barely two words had been spoken between them. There was simply no time to speak. All efforts had to be put into halting the blazes. The wind had allied itself with the flames, helping them to quickly spread.

Legolas's nails had turned black, and his palms felt raw from beating with rags continuously. His back was sore from bending low to reach fires on the forest floor, and his clothing ripped in several places from climbing burning trees quickly, to put out fires in the branches. Right now he was back on the ground.

There was a load crack and a shower of sparks exploded towards his right. He quickly moved as a burning branch fell onto the spot where he had just extinguished the flames. Trying not to show his frustration, he returned to re-extinguish them again.

Gimli was frantically clearing the underbrush away, and hewing in the earth two lines, outlining a ditch. Perhaps when the other dwarves arrived they could dig it out to help stop the advancement. He was also watching his friend. Legolas had not stopped once to pause and rest, and Gimli could see exhaustion radiating from him. The elf was dirty and sweaty, a state Gimli had never seen him in before. Even his hair was a tad wild, stray strands falling across his face, to be brushed back quickly. A tear or two could be seen, sliding down the face. And the eyes. It was the eyes that caused Gimli's hair to stand on one end. They were full of an intense grief that cut straight through the dwarf's heart. For however much they teased each other, each suffered when the other did.

Legolas, frustrated, finally just reached down, and quickly snatching up the branch, hurled it back into the already flaming areas. His arm was burned, but not badly. His elven speed had done the trick. His ears picked up another crack, and judging it to be off to his right again, decided he wouldn't have to move to avoid the falling branch.

Except it wasn't a branch at all.

Legolas had the dim perception of Gimli yelling at him to look out, and then to see his friend come leaping over to where he stood, and raising his axe, cleave off the head of some man who had been about to cleave off the elf's own.

The head toppled down to lay at the prince's feet. Legolas blinked at it, and then whirled around to Gimli, who was shouting, "A corsair! Dirty, dishonorable filth! They'll be more than one too, mark my words!"

Legolas found his voice, "We have to warn the others! Hurry! Tell everyone to spread the word! A corsair raid!" Seamlessly he unsheathed his knives from his waist belt. He would have to go without his bow for now, it was up in the palace, and there was no time to run for it. Now on the alert, he looked at the woods around him to see if where the others were.

He didn't have long to wait, it seemed suddenly as if the corsairs had popped up from nowhere. All along the line of fire a great battle started to commence. The corsairs, realizing that the element of surprise must be used now or forever lost, started jumping up from behind trees, or jumping down from the branches.

Legolas whipped his knives through the air, bringing them to connect solidly across the neck of the enemy. The blades sliced the bone easily, and the man was decapitated. Legolas didn't even pause. He was bringing one knife up to parry a short sword, and then sliding the second in to cut across the belly of another corsair. Rage was in his eyes, and he fought as deadly as ever. Blood that had spurted from his enemies was now also over his skin and tunic.

* * *

Gimli was running along the line of battle, killing any man who stood in his way. He was yelling at the top of his voice, warning the elves. As he ran, he saw spots where the corsairs had broken through, leaving the bodies of dead elves behind. The surprise had been too sudden for them to react.

This filled him with a keen anger and spotting another corsair, he hurled his throwing axe into the back, forcing him to have to jerk it to pull it out. He left the man there, this slaver wouldn't be fighting any more.

* * *

From the palace Thranduil heard the clashing of swords even over the roar of the flames. He had been studying maps, and charts of the fire's progress, trying to figure out how best to distribute his people. Now he hurried out into the grounds just as another elf ran up to him.

"My lord..." the elf was taking heaving breaths, "corsairs... attacking...some have broken through..."

To his credit, Thranduil was able to move quickly past his initial shock, "Fight them back! Have the women move to hold the fires. Wake all who are resting! We must fight them off!" Anger flared in his eyes.

The elf nodded his head, "I shall spread the word my lord."

As he turned to bolt off again, Thranduil called out one other thing, "And gather my advisors. I need to know the positions of the enemy!"

"Yes my lord!" Then the elf disappeared into the trees and smoke.

Thranduil returned angrily into the palace. His mind was at a lost of how quickly misfortune had struck, dealing him blow after blow. It didn't seem possible that only last spring they had been celebrating with feasts under the starlight. He had sat at the head of the table, with Legolas beside him. The two had talked and laughed over their wine, joking and being merry with their other friends.

Legolas. Suddenly Tranduil had a desperate urge to see his son again. To talk with him. To reassure himself that the prince was still alive, and that death was being delivered to others, the enemies. His fatherly instincts reached out desperately, wishing to protect his boy from the evil in the world, as he had tried to do so, many, many years ago. This had been when Legolas had first begun to associate with mortals. The king had not wanted to see his son hurt with the grief of death, but Legolas had not wanted to be sheltered. Thranduil had given in, which was why his son was close as a brother to the king of men these days. Still, the fatherly instinct was strong. He decided that as soon as his advisors arrived he would go down to see the healers, to calm himself.

Then his kingly mindset kicked in. Before he could allow himself any sort of luxury of finding his son, he would have to prepare the defenses for his people. His mind turned to this track instantly, searching for a way to counter attack. He was still doing that when the advisors finally arrived. His desire to send for his son and to see the healers had to be pushed aside for the moment.

* * *

At last Minas Tirith came into sight. Aragorn had never been more grateful. As he reached the palace Arwen came hurrying out, worry plain to see on her face.

"What has happened? Where is Gimli?" Her voice was stressed.

"Mirkwood has caught fire, Gimli has stayed behind to help in what ways he can. I must summon men to go to Legolas's aid. We have no time to waste. I need you to write to the Glittering caves, and on Gimli's authority, ask for all water possible to be sent to Mirkwood, as well as all the dwarves that they can spare. The elves shall need all the help they can get." As Aragorn had said this, he had also handed Drano off to a handler, and had entered into the palace, Arwen striding along with him.

"I shall do as you say."

"I need to gather the men. We must ride as soon as possible." He sent a messenger boy for one of his guard captains.

Within an hour the courtyard, and surrounding streets were filled with Gondorian soldiers. Aragorn saddled Brego with all possible speed. This time though, Arwen laid a hand upon his arm before he could swing up into the stirrups.

She looked him into the eye, "As long as the evenstar is with you, then know that I am with you."

"I have always known that. We shall put out this fire quickly. You'll see." They embraced, Arwen clinging tightly to his shoulders, and then Aragorn was up on his horse, and riding out past the men. As he came to the head of the column, he turned back and shouted to them, "We ride at full speed, towards the smoke on the horizon. There will be no stopping! Our allies in Mirkwood need our aid and we shall not fail them! Ride out!" Heels kicked against their horses, and, mimicking the great thunder that they had heard during the storm, the horses rode out of the city. Arwen watched this all from the stable door, worry clutching at her heart.

* * *

A blade came hurling right at him, Legolas ducked, and in return, flung sideways one of his knives. The corsair at the last minute moved and stupidly, put his hand up to block it, and as a result, lost his hand. By the time he could recover from that shock, Legolas was already upon him, stabbing the remaining blade into the heart, and then jerking down.

With a grunt of satisfaction Legolas removed the blade, ran, and in one swift motion, picked up the thrown one, and then parried an attack from the side. He reached over to kill the man and was, to his shock, in turn parried. What followed was a desperate match between the exhausted but superior fighter, and the fresh but inexperienced one. Blade clashed against blade. For each attack a defense was given. Legolas tried aiming for the face, and was blocked. He tried to fake the man into thinking that he was going for the belly, and went for the neck instead and was still blocked. In his own turn, he brought his blades down to block what would have been a crippling blow to his side. Across the terrain they battled, each determined to win by killing the other.

Experience finally won out. The corsair forgot to watch his footwork and stumbled backwards upon a root. Falling, he found he had one last chance to strike a blow against the enemy. He whipped his sword around the side, and was rewarded with the feeling of blade cutting flesh. But not for long. A pain exploded under his right ear and then he knew no more. Legolas had sliced his knife upwards under the ear, effectively cutting into the brain. The corsair was dead.

The elf glanced down at his side. It was bleeding, what's more, it was impossible for him now to lift up his left arm without causing himself excruciating agony. Angrily he turned to see if there were some plants he could use to help stop up the wound. Suddenly he noticed that the leaves all around him were burning. During the fight he had steadily pushed the corsair back towards the flames, and now found that the fires were practically right on top of him. If the battle had lasted but two or three minutes more, both corsair and elf would have been completely cut off, in a circle of burning trees.

For the first time in his life, Legolas lost his bearings in a battle. For a second he was back upon the field of ashes, watching the leaf wither and curl into the dark dust. He shook his head and cleared the vision, but the distraction had been enough.

A corsair bursting through the flames had run up behind him, and seeing the elf without any defenses ready, struck him from behind.  
Legolas had a momentary feeling of incredible anger at himself, then incredible pain from his back, and then the burning woods spun around him as all went black.

* * *

Tanvir had seen it all. Screaming a cry of rage he hurried to his friend, shooting into the eye of the corsair an arrow. The corsair landed dead a few feet away from Legolas, who lay on the ground with blood flowing from him. In the smoke Tanvir could not tell whether or not if he was breathing. Tears flowed down his face, and he feared the worst.

He bent over his friend and placed his hand on the chest. He cursed at himself, his hand was trembling too much to tell if the chest was moving. He picked his friend up, and carried him back to the rest area, which had now been converted into a makeshift healing place. Dying elves lay everywhere, and the stench of blood was overwhelming. Two women came hurrying up and carried the prince away from him. Tanvir followed, to ask if his friend was even still alive, but he could not tell in the smoke which way they had gone. He yelled his frustration, and then, full of a righteous anger, hurled headlong back into the battle. He fired three arrows, which slew instantly whoever was in their paths, and then pulled out his own long sword. He was furious with grief, and now out to exact a bloody vengeance. His eyes were devoid of emotion as he hewed at the corsairs with his deadly strokes, yet each one who fell did not even begin to appeal his wrath.

* * *

Gimli swung his axe around and caught the side of a man with it. Yet even as he felled this one, another elf fell in death off to his side. They were losing the battle, being driven back slowly by the fire and corsairs. The women were doing the best they could to slow down the inferno, but the corsairs were carrying them off, to sell like horses into far away foreign markets. Gimli gritted his teeth and fought on. He would suffer no more retreating. He pushed forward.

* * *

The women who had taken Legolas away had laid him down on a cot for a moment. Then, being distracted by a new patient coming in, they had left him there, still bleeding, laying still as death, eyes shut and face pale.

Thus it was that Thranduil saw his son as he and his advisors walked through to see the healers.

At first, he had simply glanced at the elf and then continued on. The smoke made everything difficult to see, but all of a sudden a picture of whom it was came clear as day to his mind. He deserted his advisors and ran back to the cot. His fear was confirmed, there lay his son.

He stared at the prince, not moving. He could not move forward to touch the body. As long as he didn't touch the body and feel its stillness then in his mind there existed the chance for life. The fact was that his heart could not accept it if Legolas was dead.

Now grief made its presence known. Tears flowed from his eyes, he turned and walked away, stumbling towards the palace. He couldn't stand to look upon the body any more. He yelled at his advisors to bring his son away from the area so injured elves could have a place to lie down, but the advisors couldn't hear him over the noise and confusion of battle. To be honest, he couldn't even hear himself. Only his son was in his mind. His tears blinded him. So when Urgsha sprang at him from the gate he reacted too slowly and too late. A blow to his temple left him unconscious, and Urgsha, recognizing whom he had caught was filled with glee.

The king of Mirkwood himself! Who else would wear a crown? This would be a prize that Sanul would accept as rich enough. As soon as the battle had started Urgsha had made his way around as quietly as he could to the palace. He had chosen his path carefully, avoiding everyone, his own crew included. Upon reaching the palace and trying every way he could think of to gain entrance, found to his despair that he could not. For indeed there were some protecting enchantments. He was panicking, wondering how on earth to deliver on his promise to Sanul when this king had practically walked right into his arms, crying, probably for the stupid trees. It had been easy to knock him out.

He dragged the king into the forest, deciding to take the shorter way back.

* * *

As they moved forward sounds came to them. Battle sounds, and sounds of the dying. This they perceived as good. More distractions, and now they would know that no elves would be in the trees to see them.

The word from the leaders was given, and one by one they choose a tree and climbed it, scuttling quietly across the branches, leaving silken threads behind to help form new nests. The spiders were moving into position.

* * *

The elves were running. They could not do it. Too many corsairs had come, and too many elves had been caught unawares. The corsairs were now selecting carefully the places they landed their blows. Many of these elves would make good slaves.

The fire was waging unchecked and in the time since the battle had started, had more than tripled its original area. Trees were consumed by the flame and ashes seemed to rain from the sky.

Despair was thick in the atmosphere. The advisors could not find their king and so turned to find Legolas. Then they received rumors that the prince had died, and to their horror they suddenly realized that Mirkwood was now without a king. So they had chosen that moment above all to start arguing amongst themselves about who should now claim the throne. This they were still doing when the corsairs found them, and panicking they had scattered, each yelling out different orders to the confused elves. The woods in short, were nothing less than total chaos.

* * *

Gimli killed another corsair, and another, and another. Yet he could see that his actions were making little difference. The cry of retreat was on the air. But he was determined that death would take him first before he turned his back. As he swung his axe again for the countless time, he saw Tanvir, whirling like a deadly wind through the corsairs. Tears streaked down his face, and he was yelling. For some unknown reason Gimli felt suddenly very afraid in his heart of hearts. Without knowing exactly how, he knew that something very terrible had happened. Perhaps it was from the connection the two had formed earlier when their gazes had locked. Now Tanvir's gaze only communicated a horrible grief.

He looked around, and didn't see Legolas anywhere. He told himself that this was because the trees were blocking his friend from sight, but another look at Tanvir's face told him that this was not so.

With a cry of rage he hefted his axe and ran into the fray, chopping out legs as he ran by, not caring to see if the corsair had died or not. He simply wanted them to feel pain as keenly as he now felt it. The ranks of corsairs closed in around him, and he lifted his axe, ready to do his last battle with them.

Behind him suddenly he felt the presence of Tanvir who had fought to his side. Now in perfect unison the two warriors attacked together.

* * *

Aragorn's steed finally topped the last hill. It seemed to the ranger's eyes that the smoke had grown thicker since he had last see it. As the men and him halted their horses for a moment to gather their bearings, a sound came to his ears.

The noise of swords. The sounds of screaming and yelling were being, very faintly, carried on the wind.

Aragorn felt his heart skip a beat. What was going on? A battle, taking place inside the forest? Something had gone terribly amiss in his absence. He drew his sword, and his men followed suit.

He turned his horse around once more and spoke to them, "It is no longer fire we fight! Although I do not know who our enemy is, we shall go meet him head on! I know you were not expecting battle, but battle is upon us nevertheless. Let us once again demonstrate the honor that there is in men!" He turned and plunged down the hill. His men followed. Their horses thundering as before, they entered into the woods.


	6. The Smoke Thickens

Here it is! Chapter 5, finally finished, sorry about the long wait! After such a build up I really hope you guys enjoy this! 

_The Smoke Thickens_

Crack! Snap! The great black whip streaked out, fast as lighting. It caught the elven warrior by surprise, who hadn't even noticed that there was another enemy in the area. The whip coiled around his chest, the mithril tips spinning upwards to cut three parallel lines into the flesh above the jawbone. The effect was so instantaneous that the elf had died before he could even bring his weapon up to defend himself, dead even before hitting the ground. It was why Sanul used the poison. Sometimes it took agonizing weeks to claim its victim, other times, mere seconds or less. Its unpredictability was what Sanul loved. That and its lethalness.

He had been slinking along in the shadows, striking out randomly in this fashion, searching for ideal slave bodies. He generally looked at the women who were desperately trying to keep the flames in check, but every now and then a male specimen would present itself. Sanul only took what he considered the best. His expert eye would instantly assess the value of each elf.

With a swish of his cloak he moved to a different tree, sliding along effortlessly in the shadows, radiating a darkness. Only his eyes could be seen, and they were often seen much too late. With them he spotted another warrior.

As he raised his arm to catch the fighter in the legs, the sound of distant thunder reached his ears. Confused, he turned his head upwards to stare at the sky. The smoke blotted it from view, and all Sanul received was ashes burning his eyelids. His sixth sense was warning him. Rain was not on the air, so why was there thunder? Another one of those lightning storms? Whatever it was, it worried him enough to convince him to pull back into the shadows.

And indeed, in but a few seconds later the storm was upon him. But not the storm he had been thinking of. It was not one of lighting, or rain, but rather, one of galloping horses and gleaming swords. Aragorn and his men rode by, swift as the wind, riding as easily in between the trees as they had on the plains. They were rapidly approaching the main battle lines of where what little elves remained were fighting.

Sanul bared his teeth in anger and hissed. His plans, ruined! Where had these reinforcements come from? There had been no time to call for aid certainly, and even if somehow a message was sent, how could the Gondor men be so handily nearby? Sanul realized that what had drove him into these woods must have also brought others. The fire's smoke must have been spotted and investigated, and now the men realized that much more than a fire was going on underneath the boughs of the trees.

Sanul realized that unless he took quick action his men would panic and take flight. This he did not want, it would be a disaster. An opportunity such as this would never come again in his lifetime. To have been able to attack the elves of Mirkwood, and to come very nearly to victory was something before unheard of. It was simply staggering, the amount of luck he had received. He was determined not to lose it. He moved off after the horses, calling orders to his men as he ran. Already he was thinking of a new strategy.

* * *

Aragorn rode by another man that he recognized as one of the enemy. Upon entering the woods, and upon drawing closer to the sounds of battle, they had finally come upon a fleeing elf. He had warned them about who they were facing, and then with renewed hope at their presence, had raced off ahead of them.

Now Aragorn finally had a face to put to the information. He quickly chopped it off as he rode by, the startled corsair's body still standing for a second or two before it collapsed. The head fell to the ground beside it.

Aragorn was gone already by this time. Bursting through the trees, he finally found where the remaining elves had decided to make their stand. The corsairs were closing in around them and Aragorn realized that there was much more than just one crew here invading. It looked as if the combined crews of three or four ships were attacking. He and his men doubled their speed and rode into the battle.

Their army crashed against the enemies. It was a slaughter. The men of Gondor had the luck and advantage with them for now it seemed. The rode through the corsairs, cutting them down in their path. Many had already turned and fled off into the woods.  
Aragorn trampled a man down with his horse, and turning, caught sight of an elf fighting clearly with all that he had left. Corsairs had surrounded the warrior, but the elf seemed far from giving up. As he spun in a different direction, another figure came into view. This one was someone who Aragorn recognized instantly. It was Gimli, bringing his axe down onto another enemy, killing him.

Aragorn's heart leapt into his throat as he saw through the smoke an enemy rise up behind the dwarf's exposed back. Yet he needn't have worried. The other elf dispatched the enemy in a fluid motion, slicing the blade across the neck, delivering a speedy end. Aragorn turned his horse over in that direction, and he, along with two other men, rode off to his friend's aid, slicing corsair throats in the process.

* * *

Gimli turned around as Tanvir neatly dispatched another enemy. He spotted one for himself and went after it. Yet as he brought his axe to bear down upon the invader, he could only really think about whether or not Legolas had died as Tanvir's look had so cleanly communicated. He was filled with anger at himself for not being by the elf to defend him, though that was no fault of his own. If he had not left Legolas to go and warn the others, perhaps there wouldn't have been even a resistance. But this Gimli could not see.

Spurred on with new energy he distracted his enemy by bringing his axe down across the tops of the feet, and then while the corsair howled in pain and looked down, he neatly chopped off the head, performing a tidy execution. It was an old trick he had learned fighting orcs in caves long ago.

However, he knew an unfair match when he saw one, and this time the numbers favored his enemies, which they also knew. Even as another man fell, a new one stepped in to take his place. Gimli felt a blow ring off his helmet, if it had been any lower, it would have cut open his neck. Turning he ducked another blow about aimed more properly this time. He rammed his axe into the chest, winding the corsair, whole fell backwards. Now Gimli swung his axe up and then brought it down right over the heart. Another handy trick he had learned.

An arrow went whistling by his ear as Tanvir dispatched a man who had leaped down from a tree branch behind him.

Suddenly, the ranks around him were broken. A man on a horse was riding into the mass, cutting of heads and slicing throats as he rode by. And not just any man Gimli realized. It was Aragorn, which meant he had returned with reinforcements! A cheer forced its way up Gimli's throat, and now he fought on with renewed hope.

As he watched his friend fight he admitted to himself that although horses were not his first choice of transportation, they did give a nice advantage in the face of battle. While he and Tanvir had been struggling to dispatch the men around them, Aragorn seemed hardly to be taxing himself, even though Gimli knew that that was far from the truth. It took power and skill to be able to fight from a horse.

The corsairs around him retreated, fleeing back into the woods. Gimli pursued them, running and then tripping them up with his axe. Arrows flew past his head, burying themselves into the backs of fleeing corsairs. Gimli knew without looking that these came from Tanvir's bow. Aragorn rode ahead past them, catching up with the enemy and delivering to them more causalities. His sword parted the smoke as he swung it into the face of a corsair. The firelight gleamed of the blade, making it seem to burn itself.

After a while Gimli stopped. Victory was clearly his, and he was running out of breath. Let the other elves deal with the cowards, he was going to go find Legolas. Beside him Tanvir seemed to have the same thought.

Aragorn, seeing that they had stopped, trotted his horse over to them. He looked down to the dwarf, "It seems that you have been fighting more than fires under these forests. How fare you?"

But before the dwarf could answer, Tanvir spoke up, "There is no time for that. If Gimli has any injuries they are not serious and so can wait. You are the king of Gondor, Aragorn, the son of Arathorn are you not? The friend of the prince? The healer?"

Aragorn looked quickly at this elf, staring at him with a sharp, piercing gaze, "I am he, and Legolas is my friend. Yet now I realize that I have not seen him, where has he gone?"

Gimli looked over at Tanvir anxiously now, to see if his fears would be confirmed.

Tanvir spoke quietly, "I fear he has gone away to the halls of Mandos forever."

Gimli bowed his head, and he blinked his eyes hard. It was as he feared. Aragorn could not have appeared more shocked than if someone had come and told him that Sauron had returned. "He fell? In battle? Where have they lain his body? I shall see to it!"

Tanvir looked at the ground, "I carried him to the healers and they bore him away in the smoke. I could not tell where they had gone."

Aragorn wheeled his horse around, "Where is this area of healing then? I shall look for him there."

Tanvir pointed out the direction, but stayed Aragorn's horse for a moment. He looked up at the ranger, "I cannot go with you though it is something I desperately wish. I must stay to battle with our other enemy, the fire. Please send word to me of how he fares, whether it be good or ill. It should ease my heart to know for sure either way."

"I will not forget." Aragorn rode off, Gimli running quickly beside him. They entered the space between the trees and the palace wall, where the healers were doing their work. Aragorn jumped down from Brego and tied him to a tree that so far was still safe from the flames. He and Gimli turned to walk amongst the injured.

It was a heart-wrenching sight for the two mortals. To see the eldar race, injured and bleeding, pressed into their souls a feeling of grief. All around was the sight and sound of suffering. Horrible cuts and slashes were upon bodies, blood was dripping onto the ground, dying it red to reflect the burning trees. The bodies loomed up in the smoke as they were approached, and then faded away into the thick darkness. Gimli could not bear to look at any of them, yet he looked at all of them, searching for his friend. Aragorn walked beside him, doing the same.

* * *

As he ran Sanul called some of the men to him. Dispersing them along the line, he gave them orders to help feed the fire. He had them throw up underbrush straight into the path of the wind, and thus the path of the flames. Yet he knew that causing the fires to burn greater was not a winning strategy. It would not return to him the advantage that he needed. He tried to think of another strategy, yet the perfect one eluded him.

He forced himself to concentrate.

His mind wandered over to many of the other raids he had fought in before, this was not the first time they had come up against horses so why did they flee like children? What had they done before in such a situation?

The memory came to him, his reserve men, hiding behind houses in the village, cutting at the legs as the horses went by, who were chasing the other men who were still running as a distraction. The horses had reeled and fell, many of the men being crushed by their very beasts in the process. Yes, perhaps that would work here. They had enough of a head start. He called to one of his crew as he ran by.

"I want you to spread the word for each man to form an accurate line as possible, hiding behind trees. When the horses ride by, cut at their legs, stab their sides, do whatever it takes to bring those men down from their steeds. Do as we did against the inland village, where we brought their horses down. Then the odds shall even out again and we shall be able to attack."

"Yes captain!" The corsair ran off to carry out the orders. Passing from man to man he told them to keep running, making as much noise as possible, or he told them to hide behind the trees, and to wait for the horses to gallop pass. When they did, they would know what to do. The crew sneered with glee. To turn the Gondor men's' own horses upon them would be good sport. Within ten minutes the crew had heard of the commands, and had formed a line, stretching across a patch of trees. The hid themselves as quickly and as best they could, hearing the hoof taps of horses approaching.

The rest of the crew stomped on ahead, yelling and cursing loudly to give a sense of direction to the riders.

Sanul grinned, waiting in the shadows.

The men of Gondor rode forward, unaware of the awaiting trap.

* * *

They found him. Legolas hadn't even been moved since Thranduil had last seen him. Perhaps the healers already thought he was dead. He certainly looked like it. Blood coated his side, and spread out under him from his back wounds. His face was a sickly gray, and when you add all this to the fact that his body was covered in sweat and ashes, soot and dirt, one could easily imagine the elf as having been departed from the world for quite sometime.

It had been Gimli who had spotted him. He was glancing around, trying to peer through the smoke, which was a little less thin here because there were fewer trees. He saw a shadowy figure.

He had expected it to be another injured elf, and indeed it was. Just that it was finally the injured elf they were looking for. Gimli had, like Thranduil, done a double take, and then he pointed the elf out to Aragorn.

The ranger was furious. He loudly called for a healer, and when one came, he seethed at him, asking why their prince had not been given care. The healer looked at Legolas and blinked, twice. He hurried off and in moments the whole space around the elf was filled with healers. This again frustrated Aragorn. He pulled the head healer aside. The elf was much like Tanvir, tall with dark hair.

"What is wrong with you? You are of the eldar, where is your sense of order and wisdom? You are behaving as foolish men do."

The elf had the decency to look embarrassed, "I apologize on the behalf of the Mirkwood folk, but little experience do we have of dealing with injuries such as these. Our kind does not grow sick and what little scrapes we receive are quickly cured without any assistance. When our folk fall into conflict with the spiders, rarely are they even injured. At the worst they are killed and so a healer's presence is not necessary. I have actually come upon a new experience, one that I am ill prepared for."

Then Aragorn spoke to him, telling him that if he wanted to see his prince to live, then he would clear the area out of all unnecessary elves. He and Aragorn himself, as well as Gimli would remain to tend to the elf. The others were not needed. Aragorn explained that he had much experience with battle wounds of any kind, and with field surgery.

The head healer turned and did as Aragorn requested. Now Aragorn turned to finally examine his friend. He and the healer pulled Legolas over onto his chest, it was bad for the elf's breathing, but they had to get at his back. The ranger leaned forward, despite the stench of blood, and began to look over the wound.

To his disgust, the blade was still in it. It had snapped in half, and remained embedded in the skin so that Tanvir had not seen, nor felt it. Little natural healing had been done because of this. Aragorn shuddered to think how long his friend had lain here on his back, with the sword pushing into it.

He took off his gloves and armguards, and washed his hands as best he could in a small basin of water held by the healer. Then carefully he probed the elf's back to see the extent. The only reaction from Legolas was a small twitch.

Checking the inside of the mouth for blood, and finding none, Aragorn decided that the sword had not entered into the elf's lungs. By lucky chance a rib must have deflected it. In this case that meant that the wound was not as serious as it first seemed. Oh yes, untreated it was deadly, but Aragorn now believed there was hope.

He moved on to the next step, how to remove the remaining blade. He and the healer conferred on this, while Gimli sat near by and watched. The dwarf couldn't help noticing how shallow his friend's breathing was becoming. He knew that time was running out, and said as much to Aragorn.

At last, Aragorn came to his decision. The wound was too small to simply reach down and pull out the blade. It would have to be enlarged. Aragorn dipped his hunting knife in the basin, cleaning it as best he could, and then he cut away at the wound, wincing as the flesh shuddered under him. More blood spurted up, but the head healer wiped that away.

The wound was now almost two inches wide. This was plenty of space for Aragorn to work with. Without hesitation he slid his fingers down along the side of the injury, until he felt that he could get a grip against the sword. With his fingers he began to slide it upwards. As a piece of it finally passed above the flesh Aragorn grabbed it with his other hand and pulled it out. Slowly and carefully, all the while keeping his one hand still, Aragorn slid the blade out from the insides of his friend. It was covered with blood, a bit had dried on the steel. But this wasn't what was worrying the ranger about the sword.

He stared at the blade in disbelief. The tip was broken off. It must have snapped when it hit the rib. That meant that it was still inside Legolas's body, delivering to the elf more pain. The small piece was causing excessive bleeding from some organ, and the blood was covering the location. Aragorn knew that if much more blood were lost then Legolas would soon die. Already the skin was turning gray. But he could not see where the tip was, he would have to search for it with his fingers. That could take hours, hours that Legolas did not have.

But it was that, or to let his friend pass away into shadows forever. Grimly, his face set, Aragorn slid his fingers down along the inside wall of cold flesh, the blood feeling sticky against them. The healer watching turned away, but Gimli held onto his friend's shoulders, holding them steady as the body twitched and jerked from the agony Aragorn was sure that he was creating.

It seemed that he would have to cause even more. The wound was still too narrow. The blade tip was down farther than his fingers could feel. Regretting his actions, yet knowing that he'd do it again in a second if he thought it would help, Aragorn again widened the cut with his knife. His hands were covered in the elf's blood, as well as his knife, which the healer set back into the basin. The water had taken the appearance of wine.

At this point, when Aragorn was desperately trying not to cause too much pain to stop the heart, the advisors came crowding around. Someone had informed them that their prince was still alive, and so they ran to be by the royal name. Immediately they began making suggestions to Aragorn on how to doctor to their prince. They also informed the dwarf to get his grubby hands off of the eldar race.

Aragorn felt his concentration starting to slip, which would be a fatal mistake. He didn't want to waste time to stop and tell the advisors to leave, yet if he did not, he wouldn't be able to properly heal his friend.

Gimli fortunately, was not performing emergency surgery. Angry at being called grubby, and fed up with these foolish elves he stood up and turned to face them.

"You see here," he roared, "If you ever want to see your prince alive again then you'll do what you're told and sit down and shut your mouths! Or else I'll be feeding your tongues to the spiders! Aragorn needs quiet! Can't you see that he's doing the best he can? What do you know of healing anyways? There is no need for your presence here, go help fight the flames like the others."

The advisors gaped at the dwarf, clearly shocked at his tone. One of them drew forward and said stiffly, "It is you who should leave. By what right does a dwarf have to administer to an elf? We shall remain here, at our Prince's side until he wakes up. We only obey orders from the royal family."

Aragorn gritted his teeth in frustration, and turned for a split second, holding his hand in place, "Legolas might never wake up!" he snapped at them, "Don't you see that? Now leave me to work in peace!" He was trying furiously to keep his mind focused, but the advisors were ripping his concentration away.

Again the advisors looked startled, but they were not quite finished. Another went to open his mouth, but this time the head healer cut him off. He moved forward and raised his hand slightly.

"Leave."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I told you to get out. I am the eldar in charge here, and I am saying that you are causing harm to my patient. The dwarf is right, none of you have been trained in the healing arts. You have other things to go and take care of. I am officially banning you from this area. Go back to the forest and coordinate the efforts against the flames, and pray that your foolishness has not cost our prince his life."

The advisors started forward, "Now you see here--"

Again they were cut off, "No, you see here! You have no authority to order me around when it concerns the injured. I am in charge, you shall do as I say, and leave this area, or I shall send for some guards to escort you out."

Gimli hefted his axe, "There's no need for that, I would happy to be the enforcer of the ban." He faced the advisors, "You will leave here under your own free will, with what little dignity you have left, or I shall chase you out. It is up to you."

Looking from the stern head healer, to the small bristling dwarf, the advisors gave up. They turned and left, finally discovering that they had no real power. Perhaps they actually went to go help fight the flames, and to help the Mirkwood people. But the fact is that after this tale has been told and done, it should be noted that the advisors were not seen again inside the realm of Mirkwood. Whether or not if they died, fighting for their folk, or ran off as cowards is an unknown fact. Alas that some of the eldar are as foolish as men.

The real point is that from Gimli's and the healer's view, the advisors turned and vanished into the smoke, leaving Aragorn the quiet he needed to work with. Quiet being used in a relative term, as all around them were the moans of pain, and the roar of the burning woods.

The ranger continued the primitive surgery. His fingers were feeling the flesh, trying to find the jagged edge were the blade would be at. He couldn't find it. He bit his lip in concentration, drawing blood from himself now. Aragorn knew that precious time had been lost since the advisors had interrupted him, he would have to hurry. Gimli was watching worriedly over his friend's shoulders, holding them still again. The healer had set down the water basin, and was wringing his hands nervously. Still Aragorn could not find it and Legolas's breathing became worse and worse as the time dragged by.

* * *

Trees loomed up at him out of the smoke. At one point he had almost walked into a lower hanging branch that he hadn't seen until the last minute. He was sweating horribly, and his clothes were torn scrambling through the forest, dragging that accursed elf with him.

Urgsha paused for a moment, setting the king down on the ground. The hands had been bound tightly, but he didn't have enough rope to tie anything else. He wiped blood off from a scratch on his arm and stared as best he could around him. He had no idea where he was.

He had headed off from the palace grounds with a general sense of what direction the ships lay in, but he had quickly become disoriented in the smoke. Now he was panicking. His sense of time had been thrown off, and he had had no idea of how long he had been running. He worried constantly that he would be too late returning and then Sanul would kill him. A very distinct possibility.

He realized he was panicking and sat down. He needed to reorient himself. Glancing at the king he determined that the elf was still out cold, and so he turned to the nearest tree. Perhaps from a higher perspective he would be able to rediscover his earlier path.  
He grabbed the first branch and pulled himself up, and then reached for the second. The bark was rough and scratched at his hands. At about the fifth branch up he looked down and was surprised to see how high up he already was. He was also surprised to see that the king was gone.

Over reacting he let go of the branch he was holding and tried to foolishly jump from the tree. He landed hard on his side, the wind knocked out of him. But he was too scared of losing his prize to lie still for long. Brushing away the twigs and leaves, and wiping more blood off of the new scratches he went to see what had happened to his prisoner.

* * *

Thranduil had been existing in a world of blackness, pierced only by occasions of pain. When conscious had finally returned to him he found that he was lying apparently in the middle of the forest, alone. Whoever had attacked him did not seem to be around. When he tried to move he discovered that his hands were tied.

He blinked, his head was pounding, making it hard for him to think. He tried to stand and found that he could hardly even sit up. The fact that he couldn't really use his hands to balance didn't help. He settled for a simple crawl away from where he had been previously. But he had only moved a few lengths when nausea overcame him. He retched, then vomited by some tree roots. After dry heaving for a few minutes he crawled a few feet farther, and then, using the support of a tree, managed to pull himself to his feet.

Leaning against the trunk, he looked around to see where he was exactly. He staggered from tree to tree, memories returning to him. The fires, the attack, and his son. At this thought tears welled in his eyes, and he closed them for a second, bringing the side of his arm up to wipe them. A sickening feeling of grief washed over him.

When he looked up again, Urgsha was standing right in front of him, his sword pointed directly at his face. The corsair had been able to track him relatively without any problems. Once he had come upon tracks that the king left on the ground, he had simply followed them to their source. Thranduil stared, not moving. This was obviously his captor.

"Sit down!" Urgsha snarled at him.

The king sat down slowly. Urgsha, impatient, shoved him down faster. Then the corsair crouched down in front of him. "So, I have I front of me the king of Mirkwood. I suppose I should be impressed."

Thranduil simply glared.

Urgsha thought for a moment, he couldn't let this king know of his disadvantage, that he was lost. Yet surely the king knew the ways of this forest perfectly and would be able to show the correct road out. He pushed Thranduil up against the tree trunk, "Listen to me carefully eldar, I am taking you to my ship, you will come along quietly as you are now, and you will not resist. Understand?"

All Urgsha received was a piercing gaze, as if Tranduil had looked into his heart and seen its yellow hue. The corsair became nervous under the king's gaze, and slapped Thranduil across the face. He shouted at the king, "Answer me!"

Finally the king spoke, "You will find it difficult to so quickly remove me from my kingdom. I am afraid that if you wish to take me to your ship, it will have to be without any help from my part."

Urgsha stood up, clutching his hair in frustration. "You eldar! You think you are so powerful! Well look at you, who is the one tied, and who is not? Huh? You are my slave! Nothing more. Your reign has passed onto your son now, you are no longer king here!"

Thranduil's eyes flashed at the mention of Legolas. Reacting quickly he whipped his legs out, kicking Urgsha's own legs out from under him. The corsair landed hard, and rolled over, confused for a moment, panicking.

This was all Thranduil needed. He moved forward and shoved his knee into the corsairs back. With one of his arms, he leaned forward and pressed Urgsha's face into the dirt.

Urgsha wasn't finished though. He had the advantage of his free hands. Managing to pull one out from under him, he reached out and grabbed his sword that he had dropped. Twisting slightly he stabbed it into the flesh of Thranduil's leg.

The king gasped in pain, and released his position reflexively. Urgsha now rolled up, sword in hand, ready to teach this king a lesson in manners.

It was at this point, when the two were squaring off against each other, that a group of spiders, who had been following them quietly, drawn by the smell of blood, dropped down.

* * *

Tanvir was frustrated. No matter how hard the elves whipped at the flames, they only seemed to grow. The elf had a suspicion why. Through the smoke he had caught glimpses of dark figures moving behind the flame, helping it by feeding it small underbrush and broken branches. Not all the corsairs he guessed were defeated.

He sighed, angry at the fact that he was limited on what he could do. He knew that the Gondor men could take care of the corsairs, but the men had rode off in pursuit of the retreating enemies. These ones here, were for now, not under attack, free to hinder the elves.

But Tanvir could not abandon the flames, and let more trees die. He turned back to the fire. From time to time though, he would lift his bow and shoot one of the dark figures. At one point he saw a black shadow, standing against the trunk of a tree, almost invisible against it. Two narrowed eyes were staring at him. The elf blinked and the shadow was gone. He took his bow and shot an arrow into the direction, it connected with nothing.

More corsairs were coming, egging the fire on. The battles had cost the elves dearly, the fire was now practically out of control. During the fighting over a forth of the forest had been burned away.

* * *

The horses rode forward. The Gondor men were confident. Through the trees they caught glimpses of their retreating foes. They urged their horses faster, anticipating sweet victory.

Unfortunately, they never were aware of the trap.

As they rode past the line of corsairs, simultaneously enemy blades whipped out, chopping at the poor horses. Many of them reared up, overbalancing on their hind legs, and then fell backwards and sideways. Other simply crumpled headfirst, sending the riders flying forward. A few men were able to pull their horses back before injury was inflicted, but only a precious few. Dust and smoke was in the air. By the time the trap was sprung almost all of the men had been thrown from their steeds or crushed under them. The playing field was definitely level again.

The corsairs laughed gleefully. What a beautiful sight to them to see the horses collapse, legs broken and stomachs slashed open. To see their enemies lying, bleeding under their own steeds, easily killed with a single stroke across their throats.

The remaining riders, who had managed to avoid the ambush, and those who had been able to recover quickly from their horses' attack, hefted their swords and charged into the corsairs, yelling furiously. Metal clashed upon metal, and the battle became renewed. Each side fighting with all they had, delivering deadly blows around and over the bodies of the horses. Those mighty creatures, reduced to stumbling trots at best, as those still alive ran panicked around the soldiers in the battle.

By now, the elven warriors who had run behind the horsemen caught up. They had heard distinctly the sounds of the fight, and came prepared, with their swords drawn. Men, corsairs and elves clashed under the trees of the burning kingdom.

* * *

His hands were growing slick with blood, making it almost impossible for him to feel, much less grip anything inside the wound. Blood trickled down in rivets along the back of the elf, the skin was deathly gray. The lips were slowly fading to blue, black soon to follow. The breaths were coming incredibly shallow, almost so that it seemed that Legolas wasn't breathing at all. Death was stroking at the elf's soul.

It was obvious to the ranger that too much blood had been lost. If he did not find and remove this piece of blade within the next few minutes, Legolas would be beyond even what aid he could provide.

He pulled his hands out of the injury, wiped them off as best he could, and then re-entered, determined. The healer had left to go get bandages and medicinal herbs in case the ranger should be successful. Only Gimli was with him now, though Legolas had slipped into shock long ago and technically the dwarf wasn't needed to keep the body still anymore. The dwarf was still holding onto his friend though, pulling hair back from the face.

Carefully Aragorn slid his hand along the inside gap. He had long ago found the rib that had deflected the blade, and had searched outward from there. He felt all places in the flesh, moving carefully, but as quickly as he could.

At last, at last! He found it! Running his hand along he sliced it on the sharpened edge of the white metal. He moved his fingers around and grasped it. Then carefully he started to pull up. His fingers slipped off, he found to his dismay that he couldn't manage a grip.

He moved again, grasping it as hard as he could. It was no use, his fingers were too slick with the blood of his friend. Aragorn felt like he wanted to cry. If only the healers had tended to the prince sooner! He gritted his teeth and again reached for the piece of metal. Again, he could not move it.

Keeping one hand in to mark the spot where the blade bit was, Aragorn pulled the other hand out. He turned to the dwarf, "I can't grip it."

Gimli's eyes were narrow with worry, "You must!"

"Surely there is something around here we can use to extract it, surely?"

The dwarf glanced round quickly, went over to his friend's pack and dug through it, "I can find nothing. Try again Aragorn!"

The healer returned, and sensing the tension around him thicker than before he turned to Aragorn, "What is it? Has he passed on?"

"No, I cannot remove the blade."

"You have not been able to find it then?"

"No, you misunderstand me. I have found it, but my hands, they can't grip it. They are too slick with blood."

The healer set down what he had been carrying, "Guide my hands then. They are dry."

Aragorn glanced sharply at him, a look of gratitude showing in his eyes, and then beckoned him over. The healer quickly rubbed his hands of a small towel and then placed one into the wound, alongside Aragorn's one. The king steered his hand down to where the blade sat. The healer put his fingers around it, and closing them, cut himself. Hastily he let go of the blade.

"Do not rush yourself. This is our last chance to remove it."

The healer nodded. Taking a breath, his once again grasped at the blade. He pulled.

Blood oozed out from under it, and it slid upward, moving slowly but surely. Carefully, once it was removed from the flesh inside, the healer lifted it out of the wound, and dropped it into the basin. Fresh blood was flowing from its old spot.

The three of them breathed a sigh of relief. Aragorn felt like laughing for joy and crying at the same time. Now there was truly a slim chance of hope.

Gimli handed him his thread, and reaching in one last time he carefully sewed shut the damaged organ. He tied the thread off and felt to make sure the hole was completely shut, which it was.

Now he carefully washed and cleansed the wound. Wiping off what blood he could, and applying the proper herbs the healer had brought him, he managed to get it fairly clean. Then he threaded his needle again, and carefully sewed the injury shut. Over this he put more healing herbs and a crushed athelas leaf to help give strength. He pulled out the bandages, and wrapped them tightly around. He worked steadily, not pausing, carefully applying what was needed to heal his friend as wholesomely as possible.

He turned his attention to the small side scratch Legolas had received in the combat. For indeed, a scratch it was compared to the other injury. However, untreated it would still be crippling. Aragorn cleansed this wound and wrapped it as well.

Suddenly the ranger realized that there was nothing left for him to do. All that he could have done was done. Whether or not the Legolas lived or died now would be up to the elf. But Aragorn had a feeling that the odds favored him living. The elf he knew was much too stubborn to give away his life that easily. And the elven healing factor was already doing its work. Color was returning to the skin.  
He rose and turned to Gimli and the healer. Both were grinning.

Aragorn directed his gaze to meet the healer's, "At first I had thought you a fool, but I can see by your conduct that I was mistaken. Although initially through your actions Legolas was placed in great danger, you worked hard to make up for it, and succeeded. I should be proud to make your acquaintance..."

"Arjillian, that is my name sir, and the honor of acquaintance is mine."

The two reached out a shook hands. The grip was firm.

Gimli spoke up, "If you could keep an eye on him, Aragorn and I should go and let Tanvir know how he fares. I am sure the elf would want to come see him."

Arjillian nodded, so the dwarf and man walked off together in search of the warrior.

The healer turned back to look over the prince. Breathing was improving, and more color had returned. His lips were no longer blue, but a more healthy reddish, flesh colored. It seemed as if he would live to fight another day.

* * *

Their red and yellow eyes gleamed from the branches. These elves and men were fighting each other, not paying attention to what was going on above their heads. Almost all the nets were woven, only a few more were needed. Their stingers were ready.

* * *

Tanvir looked up as Aragorn and Gimli approached him. His heart was beating widely, now he would finally know.

Aragorn saw the look of worry on his face, "It is all right, I believe he shall live."

"Then Mirkwood shall forever be in your debt. You have done us a great service. I had feared the worst when he was stabbed, I am relived for once to be wrong."

The ranger nodded, "He is recovering now. I do not know when it will be when he wakes, but I am sure that since you are his friend he would like to speak with you."

"Yes, there is much he shall need to know. And there is also something I must tell you. As I stood here, not ten minutes ago, towards my right I saw a shadow move from tree to tree. A pair of yellow eyes gleamed at me from this darkness, and then moved on. I fear that a great evil has entered these woods with the corsairs. That darkness would explain many of the deaths of fallen comrades, who were found only with small scratches upon their flesh. I believe the corsairs take orders from it."

Aragorn stared at the forest floor, lost in thought at this revelation. "We should be more keenly aware for him them, do not pass up a chance to capture or kill this shadow. These are troubling tidings you have. What could kill an elf only by scratching it? That makes no sense."

Gimli looked up at this, "Well let's go find him and get answers. Standing here won't bring in the enemy."

Tanvir grinned, "You speak truly and well Master Dwarf. But first I should like to look over my friend."

"He lies this way, come." Aragorn and Gimli, now accompanied by Tanvir moved back off to where Arjillian was tending patients.  
Unfortunately, they never made it quite that far. They had only gone a few steps were suddenly, spiders dropped from trees all around them. The fangs were dripping, and one of them threw over a sticky web, hindering the three. The spiders moved in closer for the stinging to begin.

* * *

All over, spiders were dropping, landing down on enemies, stinging them and dropping their nets. In the main battlefield the occupants soon found themselves having to fend off the giant creatures and their other enemies.

Eight legs made for the spiders to scuttle around quickly, whipping their stingers through the air, connecting them with the flesh of men and elves. They cared little for which side of the battle they attacked. The spiders were for the spiders, and no one else. All they wanted was to feast upon fresh blood that night. That future seemed very likely as elves and men fell under their stingers.

* * *

As Arjillian was leaning over, tending to a patient, he felt something heavy suddenly land on him. Hot breath was on the back of his neck, and he felt hot liquid roll down his skin. There was a stinging pain in his side, and in his shoulder. The areas began to burn, and his vision started to swim.

Dimly he realized that a spider must have jumped him, but as another sting went through his heart he thought no more. His soul passed away into blackness as the spider rolled his body over and began to wrap it for eating later.

So much poison had entered the blood, and the heart had been pierced through. Ribs had been broken when the spider had landed on him, and they pierced through his insides. Blood trickled out of the mouth, spilling down the chin. Arjillian drew one last shallow breath, and then his heart gave out, his chest went still. The hairy legs of the arachnid crawled over his body, spinning it up tightly, but it needn't have bothered. This elf didn't need any more subduing, the eldar had died.

He was not the only one. The spiders had discovered the healing area and were joyfully jumping down into it, stinging those who were awake, and dragging them off into the dark woods. Those who were unconscious they simply started to wrap up with their webs, their eyes gleaming with greed and hunger.

* * *

He felt strange. Sounds were coming to him from a distance, they were disjointed and hard to make out. Blackness was caressing at his mind, calling him back. Pain racked his body, his breath suddenly came very short. Such pain he felt!

Dimly he realized that there was a heavy weight lying across his legs. With this came the realization that he couldn't move them.  
His eyes fluttered, and then he blinked many times, trying to regain clear vision. All he could see was this shadow in front of him. His vision finally cleared.

Legolas found that he was staring at one of the largest spiders he had ever seen, and its yellow eyes were staring right back at him. His legs were already halfway bound in its sticky rope, and as he watched, it raised its stinger, aiming right for his chest.

* * *

To give credit where credit is due here: The line, "the spiders were for the spiders" I paraphrased from C.S. Lewis. I had this disclaimer woven into the story before, but a kind reviewer showed me my error on how it jumps the readers out of the story. So thank-you C.S. Lewis for writing the books on Narnia and letting me paraphrase your wonderful writing.


	7. Worries, Escapes and Reunions

Next chapter is ready!!!! I don't think this one is as long, but I hope you enjoy. 

darkAngel36: I had Legolas wake up in the last chapter cuz I figured enough time had past for him to start waking up naturally anyways, and then the sounds of the fighting speeded up the process. Plus, it made for a good cliffhanger I thought. : )

Also, if you guys spot typos, I would love to hear about it so I can go back and fix them! Thanks!

this is the chapter I've had to tweak the most, I have begun to see an ending to all the plot lines that I think will work. And I've started working on another idea for a different story, but I won't post it until this one is finished.

here it is!

_Worries, Escapes and Reunions_

The stinger was poised, ready to inject its venom. As Legolas suddenly realized just what was about to happen to him, the spider moved. The stinger came whistling through the air, its aim deadly accurate.

Instantly, and instinctively Legolas rolled. He fell off the cot and landed hard on the ground, the spider slashing the cot down the middle, where the elf had been lying but a millisecond before.

Pain erupted over Legolas's back and side. His entire body felt like it was being sliced open by burning knives. His breath was knocked out of him, and his eyes began to water it hurt so much. His hands felt numb.

Yet he knew the way of the spiders, and so instead of trying to catch his breath, he rolled again. The spider was still attacking, and the stinger landed in the dirt beside the elf, once again just missing its prey by the merest of centimeters.

More pain. Legolas choked back a half sob half scream. Tears rolled down his face as he gasped, low moans escaping through his lips. The whole area of his back felt raw, the agony coursing down it in waves.

Still, again he rolled, spiders were quick stingers and there was no time to recover in-between attacks. This time he rolled right under the cot. The spider was furious, three times it had tried to subdue this elf, this weakling sick elf at that, and three times it had failed. The bloodlust had risen in its eyes. It wanted this meat and wasn't going to give up. He shoved his front legs down the gap he had made in the cot and tried to grab at his prey. Its hairy claws scratched at the exposed chest.

Legolas saw the legs coming for him. Black dots danced before his vision as he gasped for air, completely winded from the shock of his injuries. He strove to try to force the claws off him and to regain his breath. He reached for his knife only to find that it was not there. It had been removed, along with his tunic when Aragorn was performing the surgery.

The legs disappeared from the top opening. Perhaps it was finally leaving? Unfortunately this was not so. Suddenly he felt the spider latch onto his legs. He was being dragged forward. The spider had moved around to the bottom end of the cot and had grabbed the wrapped lower body. Legolas couldn't move his legs to kick it, and so the elf was helpless, being dragged forward to where the stinger was awaiting him.

Through the rip in the cot he saw the spider's eyes watching him. They were blinking rapidly, the yellow irises gleaming. Its mouth was opening and closing greedily in its excitement. It dragged him another few inches, and Legolas found that he couldn't halt the process. Each second brought him closer and closer to the deadly raised stinger and the hungry fangs.

* * *

Aragorn felt the web drop over him and knew that they were in for it. He tried to pull his sword out, but the sticky net entangled him and he couldn't reach it.

He saw a spider approach from his side, and instead of acting defensively, charged right at it, web and all. The spider was unprepared and so reacted too late. Aragorn plowed into it, scratching at its eyes. His momentum carried them back, ripping half of the web off of him. The spider stumbled backwards under the force, trying to regain its balance. This gave Aragorn the time to pull out his sword.  
Swinging the blade through the air, the spider only had time to move its eyes upward to follow the path of the metal as it came down, sliding through its head like a fish through water. The legs twitched spasmodically, and then it fell on its side.

Aragorn pulled his blade out and turned to fight another spider that had scuttled over. His sword whipped around, slicing at the legs causing the spider to wobble. He drew the sword up and the stabbed downwards through the center, pinning the spider to the ground.  
He pulled it out, and turning, had a moment to see how his companions were faring.

Tanvir had managed to draw his knives out before the web had fallen on him. He had easily slashed through the net and was now fighting as Aragorn was, focusing on injuring the eyes. Gimli however, had not fared so well. The web had entangled around him and his weapons, which he could now not reach. Two spiders were attacking him, harassing him with their legs. It seemed that at any moment the dwarf would be knocked off balance.

Aragorn hacked his way over and began to try to pull the web off. Gimli was swinging his fists at the spiders, and then Aragorn attacked them with Andruil. The spiders fell quickly under his sword, which was stabbing them in the eyes, and through the roof of the mouth, into the brain.

The spiders in their area were thinning. Apparently, only a small portion of all the ones attacking was over the trio. After seeing that two of the three were easily dealing out death, the spiders hurried off to another direction.

Aragorn wiped sweat from his brow and turned to where Gimli was pulling off the last of the web. Spiders could be heard scuttling in the distance. Tanvir walked over to them, a glimpse of rage showing on his face.

"Has anyone been stung?" Aragorn looked over all of them.

"No," Gimli was free from the web at last, "My armor deflected them."

"I have not been stung either." Tanvir was alert. All were aware that at any moment new spiders might see them and decide to go for the meat.

"Then we are all very lucky. How foolish of us to not expect this!" Aragorn glared around him, angry at such a gross oversight.

"The fire and corsairs were distractions enough. The king should have been preparing against this! What has he been doing?" Gimli had now removed all the webbing from his axe.

Tanvir looked thoughtful, "Actually, the king has not been seen for sometime. The last I heard, he had gone done to see the injured, and then some say he returned to the palace, and others say he is out here fighting."

Aragorn looked grim, "Either way, he has been neglectful. We need to find him."

Tanvir looked up quickly as a spider crashed through branches towards their left. It must not have wanted to go one verse three though because they were not attacked.

Gimli spoke up, "The spiders are attacking everywhere are they not?"

"Yes, so it sounds." Aragorn glanced grimly at the dwarf.

"Then who, as Tanvir said, who is seeing to the injured? Are they being defended?"

Tanvir whirled around to stare at Gimli, "There could be no one! Come, we must hurry to their aid!"

The three continued towards what had been their original destination, but this time with more urgency.

* * *

Sanul laughed out loud. Things could not have gone more perfectly. The spiders were beautiful distractions for the elves, and his men could defend themselves well enough. His ships would soon be full of staggering amounts of potential profit. He would be able to retire entirely from the business and become a buyer instead, perhaps going into small trading.

He pulled his cloak more tightly around him and raised its hood so that he was covered completely. His whip was already uncoiled. He waited patiently and was rewarded by an elf running by. He threw the whip out, but surprisingly, missed as the elf flung himself sideways.

However it was a futile attempt. Sanul simply pulled out his sword and ran it through the chest of the warrior. He was angry with his miss. He liked to think that he was perfect with his weapon. He turned in another direction, trying to figure out which way those fighting the fire would be grouped.

The fire. If there was one thing that was not helping at the moment it was this. True, the fire had been what caught his attention in the first place, but then it had been more controlled. Sanul found now that it was spreading all over. Not all of their routes back were safe anymore. He sighed, and the grinned. Out of all of the possible problems, fire cutting off their path was not the worst thing that could happen. He was confident that his men would find ways to get back if he so commanded it. It was that, or face his wrath.

He was going to cross to another tree, heading still towards the flame line, when he saw a man carrying an elf over his shoulders. The eldar was dying, blood dripping out of its mouth, onto the forest floor. He had been stabbed through the heart, and lungs. On his shoulder was a nasty bruised swelling area, courtesy of the spider's sting. The man was hurrying in a specific direction, every now and then, glancing over his shoulder.

Sanul remembered that there had been a place of healing. Here the elves would not be able to fight back. Excellent! Changing his mind about his direction, he now took off, following this pair. This would be an extremely fruitful harvest.

* * *

His back was being scraped against the ground, causing him finally to scream. He was furious with himself for not being able to stop the creature. His hands dug into the ground, but to no avail, the spider was steadily pulling him outward. It was ready to end this struggle and bring home its meat.

In a final effort, Legolas took one last breath, and rolled again, his upper body coming out by the side of the cot. As he rolled, everything went grey for a few seconds, the pain nigh unbearable. But the tactic worked. For a moment the spider was confused, and tried to keep dragging him from the other position. As Legolas felt his body twisting, the greyness cleared. He moved and saw one of his knives, lying half way off his tunic. It had been sitting on the other side of the cot the whole time. If he had rolled the other way during the beginning of the fight, he would have fallen right on the blade, maybe not impaling himself, but he certainly would have been injured even more.

Now however it was the luck he needed. He grabbed it with one hand, having to stretch his arm in order to do so. He felt his side wound reopen. He gagged on the feeling. Nausea coursed through him, and his face went deathly white.

The spider figured out that the prey was out in the open again. He scuttled over, and went to sting. Legolas didn't roll this time, instead, he swiped at the spiders belly before it could bring its stinger down.

A hissing sound escaped from the beast. Fury and rage reared up in its eyes. It was angry that this prey had found a defense. He moved to attack again.

This time Legolas chopped at the leg. He could barely move, the pain paralyzing him, but he was able to grit his teeth and move his arm. The spider again stumbled back.

Legolas moved his knife quickly and sliced through the web biding his legs. Now he could move them a little, the clinging strands only hindering him partially. He pulled his legs up, and found a whole new meaning of agony. The muscles used in his back were protesting from the movement. The shock left him completely dazed. Again the world went grey, and blackness swam before him.

He wrenched his mind to the present. The stinger was back. He rolled, and felt it stinger scrape part of his pants, ripping them, and scraping along his flesh, but not quite piercing his skin. He rolled back over so that now he was directly under the spider, and shoved his knife straight up.

Blood squirted down onto his face, hands, and upper body. He coughed on it, and the spider pulled forward, removing the blade from itself. It staggered. It was dying. Blood was gushing from it, black blood that stained the ground. Yet still it was not through. It turned back to take its prey down with it.

Legolas saw it coming, yet could do nothing. He lay, consumed by pain, unable to move. The last upward thrust had reopened his back wound and he had not even been aware of how much damage he had done. All he was aware of was that he felt like he was burning alive. His mouth was open in silent screams as he twitched uncontrollably. Blood was again pooling around him, soaking through the bandages that Aragorn had worked to wrap. The world spun with the loss of blood that flowed to the ground.

The spider smelled it. In its last moments of life it pulled itself over to where the elf lay. It glared down at the eldar. It was moaning, and struggling to move, to grasp his weapon. The spider would have none of this. It raised its stinger for the last time, preparing to bring it down into the head, to kill and ensure death to his prey, just as itself was sure to die.

Legolas desperately tried to reach the knife. Using his legs he pushed himself sideways. All strength as drained from his at this. He had dragged his back across the ground. Never ending, fresh waves of torture rolled across his body. He saw the stinger rise, and for a second his vision went black.

It cleared, and he saw the stinger come hurling down. In the end he found that perhaps death would be welcome against so much torment in life. Blood was dripping from his mouth where he had bit his lip and tongue in trying to regain his breath and push the pain aside. His eyes followed the stinger downwards on its destined path.

The tip of an arrow sprouted from the spider's eye. Legolas could only lie there and blink. Another arrow sprouted. The stinger faltered in its path and missed, striking the earth just beside Legolas's ear, pining some strands of his hair, it had been that close.

The spider collapsed, half of its legs falling across the elf, the claws scraping against him one last time. Legolas gasped and tried to move away. He was confused, his mind and thinking disjointed because of the injuries.

He felt hands on his shoulders, helping him to crawl away somewhat, and from far away he could hear worried voices. But the nausea was overwhelming him. He turned, and supporting himself with his hands, vomited. He couldn't stop, the nausea was so great. When he had emptied his stomach, he simply dry heaved, only dimly aware that someone was pulling his hair back from his face.

Finally the nausea seemed to diminish. Sounds came a bit clearer to him, and he sat back. His vision also cleared somewhat and he saw Tanvir sitting in front of him. _The source of the arrows_, he thought. _Of course._

"Legolas! Don't move any more, you've reopened your wounds."

"I can tell." His voice was hoarse, cracking with pain.

A different voice, coming from where he couldn't see spoke to him, "We're going to roll you off of your back. Hold as still as you can."

Legolas, through the haze in his mind tried to match the voice, his brow furrowed, "Aragorn?"

"Yes I am here."

Legolas coughed, "Ah, that is good."

He thought he heard a chuckle escape from his friend's lips, "I am glad you think so. I am sorry, but this is going to hurt."

All of a sudden a piercing sting was felt in his back. Legolas jerked and felt hands steady him. All he could do was stare at a patch of ground, trying to focus on it and remain conscious. He knew that Aragorn was re-sewing the wound close.

Another voice came, "I have the bandages. I had to dig through the remains of the cot."

"I am going to go help others. There are too many spiders in this area." Tanvir's hands left him and another pair pressed down on his shoulders to keep them from shuddering too much.

_So Gimli is here also_. Legolas felt another stitch and couldn't help the low moan that slipped through his lips.

"He's almost done lad."

With an effort Legolas spoke, "I have never been able to... understand why you call me that,... even though I am thousands of years... your senior. Lad indeed." He coughed, trying hard to breath.

"That's the spirit." Gimli grinned at his friend though Legolas couldn't see it.

He, Aragorn, and Tanvir had run into the area, fighting with the spiders. The place had been saturated with them. Many of the cots lay empty, and Gimli didn't like to think what had happened to those poor souls.

He had hewed many a spider on his axe, chopping through them as they came up. Then he had spotted, by far, the largest spider he had ever seen. It was staggering around something, ready to kill it. The 'it' turned out to be Legolas. Tanvir had shot two arrows into the creature, bringing it down just in time it seemed.

The three friends had run up. Legolas had seemed nearly unconscious, his eyes unfocused and clouded. His hands were moving faintly, and he was gasping, trying to pull himself in the opposite direction from where the spider lay. Tanvir had helped his friend move away, and then held him while the elf spit seemingly everything he had in him back up. It was here that Aragorn noticed the blood coming from the wounds.

Gimli went to search for bandages. The cot had been destroyed, ripped and then broken by the spider he supposed. The ground was ravaged from the fight, and blood was everywhere, as well as cobweb.

By the time Gimli found them and brought them back, it seemed that Legolas had recovered a little. He was talking, even if his voice was laced with agony, and his speech was a little jerky and slurred.

The dwarf looked over the shoulders of his friend to see how far Aragorn had come along. The back wound was had only a few stitches left until it would be completely re-closed. As he worked, the ranger applied painkillers and other types of cleansing herbs to the back.

Another moan came from the elf. Gimli could understand why.

"Finished. Hand me the bandages." Aragorn took what Gimli gave him, and now began to re-wrap across the chest, having Legolas move carefully when he needed him to. The elf's breath was coming in gasps.

"The spider is dead completely?"

"Yes it is."

Legolas's tone went sarcastic, "Well that's a shame." Through his gasps of breath he laughed shallowly, using humor to distract himself from the pain and to focus his mind.

Gimli snorted to himself, "Yes, I'm sure it will be missed. Stupid brute."

Legolas sighed, "s'alright, I am sure there are many to take its place." His brow furrowed again, "Have other spiders come down?"  
Gimli sighed, "Just the whole forest-full of them."

Again the brow furrowed, the effort to concentrate on his surroundings was obvious to Gimli. The dwarf knew that this meant that his friend was suffering a lot. "Why did my father not prepare for this? Where is he?"

This time Tanvir answered, he had came up just as Legolas asked, "No one knows where your father has gone my friend. He seems to have vanished. I have asked others to look for him and to receive his orders, but they have not yet come back. Do not worry, I am sure they shall find him."

Legolas closed his eyes and did not move any more. Gimli thought that perhaps he had finally given in to blackness. But it was not so. The eyes opened again and stared ahead. The elf did not speak. Gimli knew that the bond between the father and son was strained sometimes, but was still strong. He hoped for his companion's sake that the king was found soon.

Aragorn finished and Legolas was able to sit up slowly. Halfway upright he went stiff and dead still, his hands groping around him for a few seconds. One of them clutched Gimli's arm in a crushing grip. Unconsciousness was obviously trying to claim his mind. Then he blinked rapidly, and refocused himself. He leaned back against the trunk of a tree. Aragorn crouched at his side, re-stitching the last wound now. Legolas watched him curiously as if he was working on a different body.

Finally he spoke, "How long since the first attack. What has been going on in these woods? How did the spiders get so for in, and why--"

"Hold on a second, first question first." Tanvir calmed the sudden outburst of questions that came with Legolas's realization that time had not stopped as he had lain unconscious.

"I brought you here about mid afternoon the day before yesterday. You were not tended until yesterday evening, an overlook of our healers. The reinforcements from Gondor have come, and so have the spiders. It is a grim battle we face now. Elves and men are fighting valiantly, but we have lost our advantage since the horses fell. We think the corsairs are being led by an evil creature that has entered the forest with them. It walks hidden in shadow, and strikes quickly."

"That is ill news." Legolas had sat quietly throughout all of this, his face becoming much graver in expression as the situation was presented to him. He sighed, and then gasped as Aragorn tied off the last stitch.

The ranger looked his friend over, "These should hold as long as you don't battle again as you just did."

"That is very comforting." The elf tried to stand and could not by himself. Tanvir and Aragorn helped him up. They headed away from the site of the struggle.

As they walked in between bodies in the area, Aragorn spotted an elf. It was lying under a spider that had been killed by Gimli's axe. It was mostly bound up, but not enough to disguise his features. It was Arjillion. Aragorn could tell that the head healer was dead. He murmured his shock, and moving forward, dragged the spider off.

He cut the webs away and then crossed the hands. The face was cold and stiff, the eyes would not remain closed. Legolas and Tanvir watched sadly, the former leaning on the latter for support. Gimli cast his eyes downwards.

Aragorn, stood, they would have to come back later to bury him properly. After they had helped Legolas find a good position to rest and recover, Aragorn wished to return to battle periodically to fight and to heal others.

For indeed, such help would be needed desperately. Spiders were killing elves more so than corsairs. The creatures had sensed vulnerability about the eldar, tasting a weakness in the air that had never been there before in all of their dealings with them.

Elf after elf fell to their stingers, and to the corsair blades. The elves were really what the corsairs wanted, the men they simply tried to kill. But the folk of Mirkwood and Gondor fought bravely back. Under the trees and smoke a huge battle reigned, with no sure victory in sight.

* * *

Her dress trailed across the ground behind her. It was a long golden one, with red trimmings going across her cuffs and collar. Her hair hung down as always, black and smooth.

Awren stood on the balcony outside the master bedroom. He eyes were turned towards the distant smoke. Somewhere under that she knew Aragorn would be, fighting hard to stop the spread of the flames. Even though he had to do this, she still wished for him here, beside her. She missed his presence greatly, their time together was so short, every second not together was a second wasted.

In her mind she calculated about how many days she thought it would be until she could see him again. Her message to the dwarfs had left the day Aragorn had, by now it should have arrived at the glittering caves. They should have already started traveling to the forest by now, and with their help the fire would be quickly vanquished. Then give another three or four days for Aragorn to return.

Yet in her heart she felt that this was not so. Something about that smoke communicated an ominous feeling to her. She wished she could have gone with the others to the forest. This waiting and not knowing was gnawing away at her day in and day out.

Abruptly she turned and left the balcony, re-entering the bedroom. She knew that by looking out at the smoke she was only torturing herself. She needed to focus her mind on other things that had to be done. She left the room, everything in it reminded her of her husband.

She went to the throne room, but was informed that no one was waiting for an audience. She sighed, never had she felt so restless. She wished desperately for something to change.

As if on cue, a page entered the room. "My lady, there is something you need to see outside."

"What is wrong?" Awren's eyes looked over the young boy, his body language was not anxious, but communicated an urgency.

"More clouds arrive from the east."

Awren stood and followed the boy outside, into the courtyard. She looked up. Wind now whipped her hair. Indeed it was true, dark storm clouds as before were gathering in the east. But they did not appear to be heading towards the kingdom. For this Awren was relieved. She did not wish to have to fight fires burning at the city. She kept a wary eye on the clouds though, and went inside to start planning water distribution in case the wind changed direction and brought the storm over.

* * *

There had been no time. The spiders had been completely successful. Urgsha had been subdued, but Thranduil, wishing to keep his wits about him had pretended to faint, so thus it was that he was not stung before he was wrapped in the webs.

The cobweb covered his face completely, he could barely breath. He measured his breaths, conserving as much air as he could. His was careful to move as little as possible. If the spiders thought he was going to give them trouble, he would be able to do little to stop them from stinging him.

Thranduil had been captured by spiders before, and knew that if one was careful, there was a chance of escaping with your life intact. He felt himself being lifted, and then perceived rapid movement, though he couldn't tell whether they were on the ground or in the trees. He decided that the trees would be more likely, as the spiders preferred to travel that way.

After a long time of this motion he felt the group of spiders stop. Muffled sounds came to him, and then the spider dropped him. He landed fortunately on his side. After a moment he heard the spiders scuffle away.

Now was his chance. There would probably be a guard or two, but he would have to deal with them as best he could. His fingers clawed away at the web, each scratch tearing part of the web open. Soon he would be free.

Many minutes passed. Thranduil now worried that the spiders would return before he could pull out of the web. He clawed harder.  
Finally he made a hole all the way through. He now set about widening it until his upper body could crawl out. He shielded his eyes, and then looked around. There was one spider sitting curled on a branch, poking at Urgsha. Thanduil picked up a stone lying nearby and threw it at the spider's head with all of his elven force behind it. It hit dead center, killing the spider instantly. It fell from the tree, jerked once, and then went still.

Thranduil finished removing himself from the cocoon web in peace. He stood. All around him the forest was dark. No sounds from battle could be heard. There was only him, the dead spider, and of course, Urgsha.

Thranduil looked down at the wrapped body. He stared at it for a long time, and then turned and left through the trees. He owed that corsair nothing, the grim fate was what the pirate deserved. He focused his mind on how to find his way out of the spiders' territory. Now as he moved, sounds of the arachnids scuttling around him reached his ears. He moved slowly and carefully, only stepping out into the open when he was sure that no spiders were around. As he went he picked up stray stones, in order to defend himself should he be discovered.

* * *

They had found another cot, one that was relatively safe from all forms of enemy attack at the moment. And although Legolas argued, they forced him to lie down again so Aragorn could recheck the wounds. None of them had any intention of letting him move from the cot for a while, the battle with the spider had nearly cost him his life.

Indeed, though Legolas would never admit this to them, he felt exhausted beyond reckoning. His whole body ached, and the nausea had returned, though perhaps not as strongly as before. Once he lay down he felt like he never wanted to move again.

After seeing that his friend was no longer in imminent pain or danger, Tanvir again headed off. His help and presence was needed elsewhere. Aragorn and Gimli remained behind, the ranger working slowly and steadily, dragging out the process.

The aim behind his procedure worked. After a few minutes Legolas's eyes clouded over, and his breath slowed down. The elf could not keep the darkness back forever, and sleep claimed the prince. This was what Aragorn had wanted, but he knew that Legolas would have protested any herb offered to him to help bring this about. The elf was too stubborn.

Aragorn was now finished and he rose. Gimli was going to stay to watch over and defend their friend if necessary. Others had been ordered to the healing area to assist the exposed injured there. That was where Aragorn was also headed. His skills as a healer could be put to good use. He had seen a man carrying an elf across his shoulders, blood dripping from the mouth and he wanted to tend to this eldar. The injuries had seemed very serious. The ranger moved off.

Gimli remained and watched his friend sleep for a while. The elf was resting quietly, still. His blue eyes were staring ahead at nothing. It was a bit unsettling to the dwarf. He knew that Legolas took extra delight in that fact, and that was why whenever the three traveled together, the elf always turned his face to the dwarf when lying down.

Gimli hefted his axe and turned to look around him at the woods. Battle noises could be heard approaching. He glanced at Legolas, and then back towards the woods. He experimentally twirled his weapon. At this moment the source of the noises revealed themselves. Two corsairs dragging a Gondor man crashed out from the trees.

Gimli took one look at them, and they at he. The dwarf roared and charged at them full speed. The corsairs' faces turned pale, dropping the man, they turned and ran into the trees. Gimli pursued them.

Unfortunately for the dwarf, he had forgotten that there were other corsairs in the woods. As he passed a tree, the handle of a sword reached out a connected solidly with his temple. He crashed to the ground unconscious.

The corsairs he had been chasing now turned around and came back, laughing at him. They started to drag him away, away from the elf he was supposed to defend.

* * *

Sanul looked about him. He had entered the healing area, the man and elf he had tracked arriving before him. He smiled, the few elves that had managed to escape the spiders were in no condition to do any sort of resisting. There were only a few guards, which would be easy to dispose of. It was time for the killing to begin.

* * *

Thranduil hurried from tree to tree. He had been dragged deep into spider territory. He realized that his chances of leaving it alive were narrowing. Spiders were on his tail, the original captors had returned and had caught his scent. They had started following him eagerly, and now they were only a few minutes behind him. He could hear them in the distance, hissing to each other, and to other spiders to keep a look out.

The whole nest was being sent out to hunt him.

* * *

Aragorn sprinted through the trees, his sword out. He had seen it, the living shadow. It had crossed a few feet in front of him and now he ran after it. It eluded him. He couldn't tell which direction it had gone.

He cast his gaze around, and moved towards the area of healing. That was the direction it had been moving in when he spotted it. He would track this creature down, and then engage it, putting an end to this battle.

He heard a small cry coming from ahead and doubled his pace. He would not fail in this now. Andruil was out and gleaming.  
Aragorn caught another glimpse. The shadow was moving away from a body. The elf was dead, Aragorn couldn't tell how. But if he had to bet, he would have said three scratches. He followed as quickly as he could, but the shadow disappeared again despite his best efforts. He paused for a moment, trying to decide which way to go.

He heard a twig snap to his left, and suddenly knew that he was in a lot of trouble.

* * *

r/r please! I'd love to know what you think, just please don't flame. Thanks! 


	8. Tracking Fights and Following Friends

Hey everyone! Again I must thank you all for your kind reviews! (it's so nice to be liked) 

Ash49: You know what? You're right. I hadn't even thought of that. The reason why I actually had okay in there was to demonstrate to readers the slurrage in Legolas's voice that I described earlier. It's pretty easy to stick on an s' before okay and have the reader interpret that as slurring in the voice. I would substitute it, but I can't think of another word to go in its place. Got any ideas maybe? (hey, you are after all, my language expert!! lol) Thanks for the pointer though.

If you weren't Ash49 who just read the above paragraph, then I imagine that you were somewhat bored with our conversation. Therefore, let me entertain you with...

_Tracking Fights and Following Friends_

Tanvir was running through the forest, his enemy fleeing before him. The elf had engaged this corsair only for a few minutes before it had opted for the coward's way out, fleeing in terror from this warrior.

Smoothly and evenly as he ran, Tanvir pulled an arrow to his bow and released it. It sunk into the corsair's throat. The elf took grim pleasure in that fact. He spat at the body as he ran by it, already searching for another enemy to bring down.

He had been fighting dearly ever since he had left Legolas's side. And he had also been searching. All of the scouts that had been sent to find their king had come back with no luck. Tanvir was confused, Thranduil was an honorable elf, but right now it appeared the king had abandoned his people.

The archer shook his head. They would have to find the king and sort this all out later. In the meantime, Legolas was more than capable of ruling Mirkwood by himself. If only the kingship had not come to him so tragically.

Tanvir turned back to where they had last left the elven prince. He would have to be informed that command rested solely on his shoulders now. Moving expertly through the trees Tanvir noticed that many spiders had moved away from the area of healing. That was good, it meant the defenses had arrived.

He entered the clearing where he had last seen the others. The few cots were still there, but other than that, it was completely deserted. Legolas was gone.

* * *

The two corsairs looked at one another. They were both breathing heavily as they had been running as fast as they could, while dragging a stout dwarf behind him. They had bound his hands, legs, and had wrapped cloth tightly around his eyes so that he couldn't see anything. But right now they didn't have to worry about Gimli escaping, he was still down for the count.

They had ran quickly with the dwarf, aiming to take him back to their ship, but now they found that their path back was cut off by a massive, roaring wall of flame. They would have to detour around it somehow. This promptly lead to what corsairs do best, arguing.

"If we go thatter way it'll take weeks fore we get back oaf, dragging this lump. The fire gets worse than whot it is 'ere."

"Yur blind. Cantcha see that if we go right we'd be goin straight back to those shootin elves. If you wanna face their arrows fine, I knows which ways for me."

"I ain't walkin to my death. Me and the dwarf go this way."

"Says who? The dwarf comes with me."

"Yeah? So yur can get all the profit? Ha! Over my dead body."

The first corsair drew his sword, "If that's whot yur want!"

The second drew out his scimitar. And quick and bloody brawl ensued while the two fought furiously. It ended when the second made the mistake of tripping over Gimli. He fell full face onto his stomach, rolling over in time to be run through.

"Ha! Now all profits go to me!" The corsair dragged his fallen pirate comrade a few minutes, dumping him by a tree. "This'll distract any of em crawlies. Ugg, spiders. Lucky thing this forest is burnin em all alive!" He laughed out loud, pleased at his victory, pleased that profit would be coming to him, and pleased that the enemy was suffering. He returned to where the dwarf was, and then took the left path. Straight into spider territory.

* * *

He whirled around to his left, which proved to save his life. Sanul had been aiming for the back of his neck, now instead his whip only met Aragorn's quiver instead of flesh. Sanul quickly jerked it back to him, shaking the ranger's balance in the process. He whipped it again, and Aragorn dropped and rolled quickly and the mithril tips bit into the earth.

* * *

Sanul stepped out into the clearing, grinning, his enemy was at his mercy. He pulled back and let lose his weapon once again.  
Unfortunately for him, he had underestimated Aragorn. The king rolled along the ground, towards Sanul, the whip tips going over him, and missing again. He the rolled sideways and sprang to his feet in one fluid motion. He drew his sword and faced off against this thing.  
He heard a laugh emanate for the dark, "You are foolish."

Aragorn did not reply. He prepared himself to move quickly should the whip come again. Which it did. Sanul snapped it sideways, and then quickly brought it up, obviously hoping to catch the ranger as he dodged in the opposite direction.

It almost worked, but again Aragorn's reflexes were too fast. The mithril missed him again, but the backside of the whip caught his sword hand, leaving an angry red welt on it.

Sanul was still not worried, so this man wanted to challenge him? He spoke again, "You cannot dodge me forever."

"I can and I will."

A hissing laugh was Sanul's only response. He and Aragorn circled each other warily, waiting for the moment when a full-blown battle would commence.

* * *

Legolas blinked. Sounds from far off had reached his keen ears, waking him. He stretched cautiously and slowly and found to his relief that much healing had been done while he slept. He looked around, the other cots near him were empty, he was the only person in the small clearing.

He now tried to stand. His back was stiff and sore, but he managed. Walking around experimentally he found that the dizziness, which had graced him since he had sat up, faded away. He was not in prime condition maybe, but he was whole once more.

As he was walking his eyes caught site of the ground, easily reading the story written upon it. There were two dwarf footprints, spaced apart, so Gimli had been standing. Now he was running off towards the trees. Legolas followed the tracks. At the edge of the clearing there were signs of others, broken branches and two other sets of footprints, smaller than the dwarf's. These turned and ran off, Gimli's feet followed them. Obviously he was chasing corsairs.

He skillfully followed the tracks a ways into the woods, moving quickly, but then he saw something that brought him to an immediate halt. Gimli's helmet was lying on the forest floor, a bit of blood upon it. Legolas's heart leapt into his throat. Surely the dwarf wasn't dead? Surely?

He found the pair of tracks again, this time they were obviously dragging something. No, Gimli would be still alive them if they were bothering to take the dwarf with them. His face set, Legolas set out to hunt them down and find his friend.

* * *

Tanvir sighed as he looked around the clearing. There were signs of five different people going into the forest. One he recognized as Gimli's prints, and one as Legolas's. But the other three he could not make out. For the moment they all followed the same path. So he followed it as well.

* * *

After only a few minutes of this, he was faced with a branch off. One set of tracks cut distinctly away from the other four that were still headed in the same direction. 'Why would this one leave his friends?' Tanvir of course, had forgotten that not all paths were made during the same time, and that the footprints that branched off belonged to Aragorn, who had come this way much earlier before Gimli, Legolas, or the corsairs.

Tanvir followed Aragorn's. He was curious to what had been going on back here and was determined to find out. The tracks looked light, he assumed them Legolas's, and that the elf was returning to the area of healing for more rest.

He was glad to know that Legolas was able to move about on his own now. Seeing his friend so near death had scared him like nothing had ever before. Legolas was the closest friend he had, and they had bonded strongly together. His friend's suffering was his own. Now that Legolas was in charge, Tanvir wished to be there for him, to offer help in any way he could.

* * *

Legolas of course, had no idea that his father had not been found, and that he should really now be commanding. He trusted the fact that he would have been found and informed if his father was killed. He followed the tracks of the corsairs quickly and with relative ease.

Now though he came to an impasse. He had reached the line of fire, and it had burned away at the footprints, making it hard to know which way to turn. The elf took comfort in the fact that the corsair and Gimli couldn't have gotten past this fire either. He tried to think about which way he would go if he were a corsair.

The ships would be his destination he supposed, or the main battlefield. Both of those lay to the right. But how well did the corsair know these woods? And by the sounds, it seemed another battle was taking place to his left. Perhaps the corsair mistook those ones for the main battle and headed that way?

Legolas cast his sharp elven eyes across the ground. If only there was some sort of clue he could follow for sure! But only burnt leaves and smoke he saw. There was no way to tell.

In the end, the elf picked up two stones, and threw them with equal strength in the two opposite directions. Turning to his right he counted the paces to the fallen stone. Twenty-five. Then going back to the original spot he counted the spaces to the stone that had fallen to the left. Nineteen. Right the direction would be. He hurried, picking up his pace, looking for more tracks.

It was another fifteen minutes before he came upon the dead corsair. He wrinkled his nose at the stench of the roasting body. For indeed, here the air around them was very hot, causing the corsair's skin to sheen. The corpse was grotesque looking and Legolas turned away from it. Searching forward though, he saw no tracks leading away. He was confused until he looked back behind him and saw tracks to the left.

Suddenly the picture became clear in his mind. This corsair had been dragged here, and then abandoned while his friend turned in the opposite direction. Which meant left should have been his choice earlier. Left, which meant spider territory.

Without even hesitating Legolas turned and plunged into the forest, looking for tracks heading left. Spiders or no, he would find Gimli or die trying.

* * *

Aragorn ducked. Sanul, he knew, was now only amusing himself. The ranger was tiring, this whip was moving too fast. He knew that at any moment an opening might show through his defense and then he would be done for it. He prayed to the Valar for this not to happen.

The whip came at him, and he moved again. It scratched his quiver. The ranger now had an idea of where the three marks came from on the bodies, and he supposed that the tips were poisoned. That was why the elves had died seemingly so easily.

This time when the whip came he couldn't dodge. He was prepared. He held his arm up and took the hit. The length of the whip spun upwards along his hand, and then further up, wrapping around his sword. The poisoned tips hit at the top of the sword, metal striking metal. Aragorn knew what to do.

He pulled with all his might, and yanked Sanul a few feet forward. As he did, part of the cloak slip forward, revealing to the ranger the shoulder of a man. This infuriated him that he had been so deceived, thinking that some dark spirit was what he had been fighting. He hacked his sword against the trunk of a tree, snapping through the whip. The weapon was ruined.

Sanul gave a cry of rage. He moved his cloak and drew his sword. He attacked before Aragorn could remove his own weapon and so the ranger found himself defenseless once again. He swerved, fighting as best he could with his fists, but this was not enough. A blow landed on his arm, and he stumbled bleeding.

Sanul used the hilt of his sword to slam Aragorn in the middle of his back. The ranger fell to his knees, but then continued with the momentum, rolling over, pulling out his knife and then standing.

The long sword clashed against the small blade. Sanul fought dangerously, with the strength of a score of men. Aragorn found himself hard pressed. He was being forced back he saw, to where a line of flames was awaiting him. The old tree, which he had used to cut the whip with, was burning up, looking ready to collapse any moment. If only he could get to his sword!

Looking back cost him. Another blow was landed. This time is was to his chest, slicing through the skin drawing more blood. Though it was not deep, it was painful. Sanul laughed at him again.

New determination appeared on Aragorn's face. He allowed himself to be driven back to where Andruil waited for him. Sanul realized his mistake too late. The sword was in the ranger's hands, whistling a deadly battle song.

Now indeed a vicious battle began. Metal clanged against metal, sweat poured down Aragorn's face, and though it could not be seen, sweat trickled down Sanul's face as well. He had not expected this renewed burst of strength.

The two crossed over the terrain, sometimes headed towards the fire, sometimes away from it. Dirt flew up as they scuffed the ground, and smoke was in their eyes. Aragorn parried an attack, and then swinging high, abruptly changed direction and slashed in downwards diagonally, ripping a whole in the cloak. Drawing blood from the flesh underneath.

Sanul gasped. Never before had anyone managed to pass his defenses. He put extra energy into his next attack, crashing down on Aragorn's sword, bending it low to the ground. Then, lifting quickly, he brought the sword down again onto the ranger's blade with all of his force behind it. Andruil clattered from Aragorn's hands. He had dropped it from the unexpected maneuver.

Sanul whirled forward and struck him squarely in the jaw. Blood pooled around the corner of the king's lips. His eyes went bleary. Sanul struck him again, this time to the temple, but not hard enough to render the man unconscious or dead. The captain then plunged his sword into the flesh of the man's leg. Aragorn cried out and fell to the ground. He was crippled. His sword was too far way to reach, and there was no time to reach it anyways. Sanul came down, moving in to finish his enemy off.

* * *

Thranduil launched another stone out at the spiders. They had caught up with him. The arachnid fell dead, the stone had hit him squarely in the eye. The elven king gained another few steps out of the territory, though he still had many, many to go.

Hissing spiders were all around him. Jumping at him from trees, clawing at his legs as he ran past. Some had moved ahead to go cut him off. He knew he was trapped. He had been brought in too deep to be able to fight his way out by himself. This part of the forest he had been unfamiliar with as it was not often the king traveled deep into the spiders' nesting grounds.

Webs were being spun to trap him with, but to these he paid no heed. He would fight to his death, webs or no webs. They would never claim him alive.

* * *

The corsair looked around him, nervousness had been growing steadily in his heart. He had become worried long ago the he had chosen the wrong way, but it had been too late for him to turn back. He had become hopelessly lost just as Urgsha had before him. He blamed it on the corsair he had killed.

He gave one last look at the dwarf, indecision playing clearly across his face, and then left Gimli behind. He cared only for his own skin now, and for making it back to the ship alive. This forest was full of dangers that he did not care to face.

Unfortunately, about three minutes later he did face it. Running past a tree, almost lazily a claw reached out and tripped him. He looked over his shoulder to see the many green colored eyes bear down on him as the spider approached. This was one of the more unmerciful ones as it didn't even use its stinger before it started to eat him alive.

* * *

The clouds were moving. They were crossing over the Ash Mountains, and now Arwen watched as they headed straight for Minas Tirith. She prayed to the Valar that no lightning would come. She prayed that Aragorn was safely fighting the flames, and that he would soon return to her. She spent all afternoon standing on her balcony, gazing out at the smoke. Tears rolled down her cheeks, for some reason she felt as if she would never see him again. That once he went under that smoke, he would never return.

* * *

Tanvir hurried through the forest, following the tracks. They were headed towards the line of fire now. He heard a cry from ahead and burst through the remaining trees, finally coming upon end of the trail.

The dark creature was about to kill Aragorn.

Tanvir reached into his quiver to discover that no arrows remained. With a cry of rage he sprung over, throwing his bow aside and drawing his blade. The elven sword slid down swiftly to block Sanul's. The two swords hovered but three inches from Aragorn's chest. Sanul was pressing down with all his might, but Tanvir held firm.

Aragorn could only lean his head weakly back as blackness stroked at his vision. His leg was in excruciating pain, and was bleeding, though thankfully not heavily. Sanul had been ready to deliver the final blow. It was only by a miracle that Tanvir had arrived when he did. Now the elf fell into combat with the dark corsair. His sword matching every stroke of Sanul's. Aragorn was defended for the moment, but the blows he had received left him to weak to assist the elven warrior. He could only watch as the two skirmished over the same ground he had just previously fought on.

The fighting was quick. Any mistakes would surely mean death. Tanvir had not lived thousands of years in ignorance of swordplay. Though archery was his preferred method of fighting, he was deemed an expert with the blade.

Sanul had also honed his sword fighting down to the barest and deadliest of moves. Many nights he had practiced by sending men of his crew to their deaths. He fought with confidence.

The two moved about, swinging upwards to be blocked, feigning and slashing. Attacks were made for the belly area, and were blocked off skillfully. Their battle too ranged all over the small space available to them for footwork. Tanvir fought hard, spurred on by the fact that this was the man who had caused so much suffering to happen in his home. And by the fact that if he failed, Aragorn would die.

* * *

Gimli found that he couldn't move.

He had swum up out of unconscious, confused. He couldn't remember what had happened exactly to him, only that for one second he had been engaging in the thrill of the chase, and the next he was moaning somewhere, bound and blinded.

He cursed at himself in his dwarvish tongue, wondering why he had been felled so easily that he couldn't even recall the incident. He tried moving his hands, and found to his relief that they were in front of him. He pulled his blindfold off quickly.

Then he wished he hadn't. He was in some dark part of the forest, completely alone, and he had no idea in which direction he had come.

That's when he heard the scuttling off to his right. He tensed and crawled carefully over to put his back up against a tree. He was relieved to see that he was still armed, his captives hadn't removed his axes yet. Now if only he could get out of the bothersome ropes.  
He found a sharp rock and started to tear the bindings against it. He knew it would be tedious work. It was then that Thranduil staggered into the clearing, nearly stumbling into the dwarf in his surprise. The spiders were right on his tail.

* * *

Legolas heard something a few leagues off in the woods. It did not sound like spiders, they had a distinct rustling sound. No, what it really sounded like was dwarf mumbling.

Gimli!

He ran forward, following the noise, hastily brushing past and ignoring small strands of silky material that fell against his face. He had eyes only for the ground and for the path straight ahead, clearly showing him the tracks now. He realized a few seconds later how foolishly he had just acted.

For after only a few paces more he had to stop as he saw a sticky web stretched out in front of his path. Spinning around he came face to face with a wall of eyes. They were all blinking at him with a hungry excitement. He had run straight past the spiders, right into their nest, deep in arachnid territory.

* * *

hope this was long enough, I know the chapters are kind of getting shorter, but the climax is approaching! (dun dun dun). (yeah, not very dramatic I know.)

I'm glad if you enjoyed, sorry if you didn't. I tried my best!

silvanelf


	9. The Two Battles

All right, I know that this has been the longest time period in between updates, sorry!! I had fallen out of my obsessing about LOTR mood and had fallen into my obsessing about HP mood. Therefore I did not work on my fic since it is bad for me to write LOTR fan fiction when I am in a HP frame of mind. (the tone would be all wrong for me) So I went and watched ROTK again so I could reorient my thoughts back to LOTR. (which I have successfully, because the next chapter is ready.) 

Deana: In answer to your comment, (which was placed in such a nice review!! You make me so happy!! ) I figured, by my understanding of the healing abilities for the elves, that enough time had passed for Legolas to be up and about again, albeit carefully. Yup, he's certainly not in perfect form, but he had a whole night and day to rest after the injury, which were really only so devastating because they went untreated. Treated, they were not as serious. I hope that makes sense. (also, I wanted our elf to get some action, lol: )

I can't thank you guys enough for your awesome reviews!! Wow!! Everyone is so nice considering that this is my first fic ever. Now I always get nervous before I post that the next chapter will fall short of expectations. (I hope not!!)

ONE LAST NOTE: (promise!) I went and read through previous chapters and never is Legolas informed anywhere that his father is dead, missing, yes, but dead, no. (at least, I couldn't find such a passage, and hey, I wrote the thing!) Therefore our beloved elf has not really been super worried about his dear old dad, even though Thranduil has been grieving for his son.

_The Two Battles_

He couldn't tell how close they were, but he knew that they weren't that far behind because he could hear their hissing overhead. They were gaining on him.

Legolas was losing speed. For the second time the fleet-footedness of the elves was failing him. His injuries were sending throbbing pulses of pain into his side and shoulders, slacking his speed slowly but surely. His breath was starting to catch in his throat.

He had stayed for a moment in the center of the nest, desperately fighting with his blades, but it became quickly apparent that he would never be able to defeat all of them. He had somehow managed to slash his way through the cobweb, and then had taken off as fast as he could into the remaining woods, trying desperately to think of a way to kill so many enemies.

A spider leered up at him on his right, he twirled his dagger sideways and then stabbed downwards into its eye. It shrieked and fell back, clawing feebly at its face. More spiders rose up beside him, again they attempted to trip him up. They could sense about him the air of weakness. The trees seemed to press in around him, and the smoke was thickening in his path of vision.

Looking back he realized that his time was gone. If he did not rid himself of these spiders now; if he did not manage to free himself from the peril, then he would be overcome and pulled down by the mass. The spiders would drag him off into the dark territory, where he would be stung and eaten. A shuddering thought.

Legolas called upon his last reserves. He sprinted through the forest. Tears streaked down his face, a branch whipped him across his cheek. The trees flashed past his eyes, made into a green blur as he ran. He put all his strength into this last effort, this last attempt to get away from those monsters. He ran as fast as he could, and faster still. His injuries were screaming with agony, but the stitches held. The pain he felt made his breath draw shorter still, a cruel irony it would be if he fell due to lack of air then to the spiders' claws. But he could not slow to regain his composure. He again glanced back.

The spiders, they were still following him, and they were still gaining.

* * *

The blades crashed against each other. Sparks rang off, and tremors raced up each opponents' arms. They had moved in close, making it hard to maneuver. One small slip could easily mean death. Tanvir's face was drawn tight, sweat pouring down it. Sanul's hood had fallen back, revealing a pale face, with ugly, twisted scars running across it. One scar ended at the edge of his lip, putting it into a permanent snarl. He had had to remove the hood in order to continue the struggle; it had been hindering his line of sight. He had shaken his head back and let it fall off to hang down his back. Now Tanvir could see that his enemy was sweating just as much as he. More importantly, Tanvir could now see that his enemy was nothing more than a mortal man who had worked hard to become an expert with the sword. The fighting went on.

Aragorn was lying a few feet away, trying desperately to remain conscious. Pain from the wound in his leg was moving through his body, and darkness was creeping into the edge of his vision. He knew that he couldn't drop out now, he had to know the outcome of the battle, but to remain alert was becoming more and more difficult as the battle stretched on. He wished with all his being that he was able to fight, to give aid to Tanvir. Yet it only took a touch on his leg to know that this would be impossible. Blood was trickling down his thigh, thankfully though, it was not gushing. He did not have need to worry about blood loss right now.

So he lay where he was and watched anxiously as the battle moved around, the fire line burning in closer constantly. Aragorn was the only one who took note of this; the other two were too busy in combat to notice that gradually their open area was drawing to a closed ring of flaming trees.

* * *

Legolas was spent. The spiders were nearly upon him. His whole side was burning up in a great misery. His vision was blurred, and he ran half bent forward as the pain in his back drove him down. He knew that in any moment the weight of a spider would come crashing down on him. He tore past another tree, staggering and clutching at his side.

A spider pounced ahead, and shoved him onto the ground. He crawled forward a ways, but the spider was practically on top of him, dragging him backwards. He slashed at it with his knifes, but his blurred vision hindered his aim.

A stone came whizzing through the air, hitting the spider perfectly center in its frontal lobe area. It fell dead. Legolas looked up to see his father standing by a tree across a small, cleared nest area, his arm raised. It was he who had thrown the rock. Thranduil was white, his eyes wide. Legolas wasn't sure why. He started to drag himself forward, but cramps caused him to double over.

He hadn't seen Gimli come running forward, so when he felt the dwarf grab his arm to help him move he was startled. With Gimli's help he managed to crawl over and place his back against a tree, gasping for air, moaning with the horrible cramps from his side.

Between gasps he spoke, "Spiders...a whole nest full."

Gimli hefted his axe, but Thranduil knelt down in front of his son.

"Legolas?" His tone was one of that who couldn't understand what he saw before him.

Legolas looked up at his father, worry in his gaze, "Adar, where have you been? Scouts have been searching everywhere for you. I thought you were out in the main battle area commanding."

Thranduil could only stare at his son disbelievingly. When Legolas had come bursting through the trees with the spider upon him he had reacted instantly, only realizing what he had seen afterwards. Then the shock had paralyzed him so that Gimli had run forward to help his son.

His son, who was not dead! Such rejoicing in his heart he had never known. The image of Legolas lying on the cot, bloody and still, came back to him. Surely that elf in his memory couldn't be the same one who sat in front of him? He could not understand how all this was happening. He gazed intently at the prince, who was looking quizzically back at him.

"Adar?"

"Yes?"

"The spiders. Remember we're being attacked?" Legolas pointed over Thranduil's shoulder, who turned and hurled another stone. A spider fell dead.

"Use one of my daggers."

Thranduil took the weapon, and Legolas took his father's stones. With his archer's aim, not one stone went amiss. As spiders poked through the trees, he picked them off, one by one. Still the arachnids were not intimidated. After a few moments, a mob of them broke through, and came rushing down upon the three. Legolas staggered brokenly to his feet and prepared to meet them by his father's side.

* * *

Sanul knew that he could not win. He could hold his own for now, but sooner or later his strength would leave him and he would slip. He cast around desperately in his mind for a way out of this mess he had foolishly gotten himself into.

If only his whip had not been destroyed by that cursed man!

His whip, yes, his whip. A thought came to him. While it was true that the whip was ruined, it was not impossible nor beyond the realm of possibility that it had totally lost all of its danger. The three mithril tips were still lying at the base of the tree, gleaming in the flickering fires. Perhaps if he could work his way over to them? He began to step gracefully backwards, still locked in deadly battle with this dark haired elf.

* * *

Urgsha opened his eyes. He couldn't see anything. Only a sticky darkness pressed in around him. He tried to move, but found he couldn't; the most he could manage was a half wriggle in place. He tried to remember how he had gotten here.

What Urgsha couldn't see was that five spiders were sitting in the branches above him, watching him struggle. Drool from one of them dripped down onto his cocooned body. They began to creep forward.

Urgsha realized that the spiders that lived in these woods must have caught him. He would have to somehow get free, find and then free that stupid king, and then make it back to the ships. He began to scratch at the cobweb.

Suddenly a horrible, slicing pain entered his stomach. He screamed, he screamed until he thought that every living person in the woods must have heard him. They were ejected from his throat in agonizing gasps, echoing in his ears. Now on his side, the same pain appeared. His voice left him with this new torture. He felt sick, he wanted desperately out of the dark web. As yet another pain entered by his back he knew with a certainty that he was going to die. He prayed for mercy, but all he received was the noise of his ribs snapping.

The spiders were eating. They had bitten into their prey, enjoying the sounds of his suffering. They ate him slowly, dragging out the death process as long as possible. At last, one bit into the head, effectively ending Urgsha's cowardly life. By the time they had eaten their full, none was left but a sticky web entangled with bones.

* * *

Thranduil fought in front of his son, blocking off most of the spiders that were trying to reach around him. Their carcasses were piling up before him, as they were in front of Gimli. It seemed like every spider in Mirkwood had been called to attack the three.

Legolas was fighting cautiously, but deadly. It wound not pay for him to open his wounds and draw spiders over with the stench of blood. No, he took special care in the way he delivered his blows, showing once again his mastery in the art of combat.

Gimli swung his axe around low, slicing over a dozen pair of legs; spiders tumbled all about him. With grunts of satisfaction he slammed his axe home into those who could not re-stand, but only lie there and blink furiously at him. Black blood was all over the ground.

Legolas brought his knife across in front of him, aiming downwards to his left. He hit the spider that had been sneaking up on him right above its mouth, scraping his blade across the bone, and then snapping the jaw. He pulled his dagger out and re-entered it through the eyes of the beast. It staggered off into the woods. Other spiders were following it and were already starting to bite at the fleshy parts. The original spider shrieked at them, but they crowded round and crushed it under their hunger.

Legolas had long ago turned his attention to other enemies. Though his father blocked many from reaching him, some still managed to slip past and go for what they sensed was the weakest of the three.

While Legolas fought he kept one eye on his father. The spiders were trying to bring the king down, and with only one blade to defend himself Thranduil was hard pressed. With his entire soul Legolas wanted to be up by his side, helping to defend him, his father and king. He had not understood why his father had been so shaken before, but he had a suspicion. His heart ached for any grief his father had experienced.

A moment later the dwarf emerged to his left, killing spiders that were charging up the side. Gimli's axe was covered in the spiders' blood, as was Legolas's own weapon. Gimli seemed to understand with a look at his friend's face where Legolas wanted to be, up towards the front of the battle. He swung his axe around and started hacking his way to go and fight by Thranduil, thus he hoped to ease Legolas's worry.

Never would a decision of his would Legolas bless more dearly. For had the dwarf not moved forward when he did, then he would not have been able to aid Thranduil when the spiders shoved him down. The king would have been ripped open down the chest from one of the stingers.

As it were, Gimli was there. Seeing the king fall, he leapt forward with a cry the caused some of the spiders to shrink back. He cut and swung at them until they all retreated off a little. Then he grabbed the king and pulled him roughly to his feet. While Thranduil regained his bearings, Gimli defended him, not one spider crawling past.

Legolas let out the breath he had been holding. To see his father so close to death was unnerving. Thranduil stared at the dwarf, as if really seeing him for the first time. When he had crashed upon Gimli in his flight, he had thought to leave the dwarf to his own devices; he had not wanted any part of the other's company even then.

But now, this dwarf had pulled him from danger, partly because he was Legolas's father, and his son and this dwarf were good friends, but Thranduil had sensed that the motivation was mostly from just one warrior defending another. That it made no difference to the axe-wielder whether or not Thranduil was the king who had imprisoned the dwarven folk. The king's whole view now shifted from this one incident, and his mind reeled. Centuries upon centuries he had lived, believing the dwarves to be a dirty, crude race. Yet now signs of honor and valor presented themselves. He resolved that later he would talk with this dwarf, perhaps his son had not been so rash as he and many others had thought before.

He turned back to the fight, a new feeling of hope settling in his chest. As the spiders came forward he and Gimli drove them back, fighting together in a newly discovered unison, giving time for Legolas to defend himself from what spiders managed to get past them.

* * *

The mithril tips were coming into his range. In a few moments he would be able to reach them. He only had to find a way to bend low without compromising his defense. The elf, thinking that he was trying to retreat, pressed forward, which was exactly what Sanul wanted him to do. The more he was pressed back, the closer the blades came. Just a few more steps...

* * *

The whole sky overhead was dark, but the clouds did not seem to be slowing. Arwen watched them as they rolled unceasingly across the sky, heading again towards the forest. The smoke that could be seen from it was still as thick as ever. The clouds darkening the sky would not help this any.

At the same time Arwen wished for the clouds to keep moving, to keep their lightning away from Gondor and its cities, she also wished for the clouds to stay, so that she could know for sure her husband would not be caught up in the approaching storm.

Again she fought against an urge to run to the stables, saddle a horse and ride off to see what was happening. She stayed on her balcony, she had given Aragorn her word that she would lead his subjects, and her word would remain unbroken.

The black clouds, unheeding of the wishes of the mortal woman, continued on their path.

* * *

He reached them. The mithril was to his right a bit, ready to be picked up and fought with. When the swords clashed again, Sanul put extra strength into shoving the elf off. Tanvir moved backwards a few steps, which was all the corsair needed. In one swift, calculated motion he bent down and grabbed one of the three blades. Grinning now, he straightened to face his shocked enemy. He heard the crying out of the man and laughed, he would deal with him after the elf was killed.

What he hadn't realized was that the man's cry had been one of warning, not of fear. The two had battled right into the thick of the fire, and a tree, nearly burnt had reached its life's end. The trunk had started to crack some time ago, and now, slowly and majestically, like a king descending down palace steps, it fell.

A loud crack resonated throughout the clearing. Sanul turned his back to see what was going on behind him, confusion rearing up in his eyes. Tanvir leaped forward at this opportunity his enemy had thrown at him. Sanul's back was fully exposed. Tanvir went to bring his blade down. Neither saw the falling tree until it was too late.

The corsair captain knew that now, either one way or the other, this battle would be ended. In one last angry motion Sanul spun around to face his enemy, reaching out to swipe at the elf, who had frozen in his surprise. Then the tree crashed upon them both.

* * *

The steady rhythm of their march could be heard echoing into the ground. They could all track well enough to know that others had crested this hill before them.

Gimli's people of the Glittering Caves stopped for a moment as the last of the water-filled wagons rolled up. The commander sniffed at the forest, "It hardly appears that they have halted the advancement at all. The fires look out of control."

Another grumbled, "And now we'll have to do all the work for them."

"I hardly think so. The elves need water and we have brought that, but nothing else has been asked of us. We shall follow whatever new orders Master Gimli gives us and only those. Come let us enter into the forest."

This caused more grumbling as dwarves and trees were not the best of friends, but the whole contingent marched behind their commander, their ranks stretching back far onto the plains. Gimli's message had sounded urgent and so all who could be spared had come, making for a large army. Wagons filled to the brim with water were dotted amongst the ranks, and all passed under the trees, towards the ever-being fought battle.

Though the dwarfs had not traveled expecting to have to fight, they were still prepared for any trouble, each was armed to the teeth. They marched, and the last of them disappeared into the darkening woods. All players had finally arrived.

* * *

ok, I know in this chapter I didn't really expand upon how the rest of the battle was going, but that was really because nothing there had really changed, the elves and corsairs and spiders all are still fighting desperately with each other like in the previous chapter, so I figured you guys didn't need to hear it again. I wanted to zoom in onto the two really important battles in the story, the three versus the spiders, and Aragorn, Tanvir, and Sanul.

silvanelf


	10. Defeats

A couple of answers and then the next chapter! 

Dur En Thurin Naur: I am afraid that the twins won't be joining this party. They are awesome characters, but I can't find a way to enter them realistically. Maybe in a sequel?

Ash49: Thanks for the pointer about Arwen, (doncha just love stupid typos?)

As mandatory, a thank-you to all of my reviewers:) I know I've typed it before, but your guys are so nice, you all rock!

alrighty, on to the story!!!

_Defeats_

He dragged himself forward. It was agony to move so quickly, but such speed was necessary. If the tree had crushed Tanvir then he would have to be rescued as soon as possible, or else the elf would suffer horribly. Aragorn prayed that Sanul had not survived, that the tree had crushed the life out of him.

The dead leaves stuck to his leg, helping to clot the blood. Smoke was blown into his face and he coughed. The fallen tree was closer now, and as the smoke cleared, Aragorn saw a dark figure rise from it. From the distance he was at, and from the smoke in between he could not yet make out whom it was that was staggering to their feet.

With an effort, he crawled even faster. He pulled his leg behind him, supporting it with his hands. It was sending pain up into his stomach, and he wanted to stop and vomit, but did not. Instead, he looked up again towards his destination, hoping to see Tanvir.

His blood went cold, and he froze.

Sanul, reeling and covered in blood was sneering at him. In one hand he held a broken sword, the edges jagged, in the other, the mithril dagger tip. In his eyes was the look of madness, they were wild and blazing. Blood was dripping from his face onto the ground. He seemed as if to have just risen out of the very depths of the earth, some ancient forgotten evil. The corsair lurched forward, clearly intending to finish the fight.

Tanvir was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

"What's going on under these trees?" The commander glared about at the darkened woods. He was clearly frustrated. They had entered into Mirkwood, famed for its strict boarders, and they had yet to meet an elven patrol to escort them to the king. The commander was no fool and knew that this was odd.

And now, the sounds of battle had come to them. It became painfully obvious why the fire was so out of control. All of the dwarves had been instructed to prepare themselves for battle, and to keep sharp eyes out. The march had been quickened to a quick jog, warming their blood.

"Druvan!"

"Sir!" A burly dwarf hurried up at the commander's call.

"Go scout ahead and find us this source of noise. We will follow behind you."

"Right away!" The dwarf took off, putting on more speed in order to get ahead of the rest. But only after five minutes he was seen tearing back towards them, a worried expression on his face.

The commander looked at him sharply.

"Sir! The battle is only just further on, past a few more trees. Elves and Men are fighting, as well as the spiders!"

The commander grinned, it seemed that this trip would turn out to have some fun after all. With a roar, the dwarves put on full speed, and ran, axes ready to chop, the battle lust raised in their souls.

* * *

Gimli swung his axe back behind himself, felt it connect with a spider, and then swung it forward to hit the other beast in front of him. He was panting with the effort, but was satisfied. Thranduil was still holding strong as he was, it was Legolas who was worrying the dwarf.

Again the elf had been forced into a battle that he shouldn't have been fighting. The wounds were sucking away at his strength. His face had become more and more pale, and Gimli could see that he was tiring. One arm now clutched at the side, while the other was used to wield his weapon. The king and Gimli fought hard to keep spiders away, but many had snuck around behind the trees to ambush the prince. Suddenly, Legolas had found himself surrounded and overwhelmed by the foul creatures.

There were too many spiders in-between the friends for Gimli to get over quickly to help. He had been fighting steadily towards the elf for more than ten minutes, and had only managed to gain a few steps. The spiders were pressing in thick everywhere, it seemed that they had sent for reinforcements from the main battlefield.

In the back spiders were weaving together hastily a cobweb to fling over the three. This way it would be quite simple to bring the warriors down. Try as he might, Gimli couldn't think of a way to avoid this. There was no room for maneuvering away, by sheer force of numbers the spiders would defeat them. The warrior in his soul would not accept this; he gathered the last of his reserves and strove to break through the mob.

The web was almost complete, only a few more strands to go. The spiders grouped around it were eyeing Legolas greedily.

* * *

Aragorn knew he was in trouble. He couldn't fight, but he would never run. He was defenseless, hardly able to sit up, where as Sanul was both armed and upright. He looked around frantically for some sort of help. In only a few seconds Sanul would be upon him, with all of his battle rage to boot. Aragorn knew that it would be no match. With a crippled leg and a slashed chest he would not even present Sanul a challenge.

He could find no aid in time. Sanul, with a scream of rage, broke into a staggering run. He reached Aragorn and instead of using his sword right away as anticipated, Sanul instead leaned downward and connected his fist solidly with Aragorn's face. The ranger saw stars.

The corsair then took his heel and drove it into the base of Aragorn's spine. Pain exploded in the ranger's back, and he groaned. Aragorn could not regain his bearings, and blow after blow rained down upon his already battered form.

Sanul took distinct pleasure in this. When the tree came down upon him he had been half crushed under the trunk. By luck, there had been a hollow in the ground, enabling him to crawl free. It had come with a costly price however. Even now pain radiated through him where his insides had become twisted and ruined. As he laughed a trickle of blood slipped out of the corner of his mouth, spilling down with the other blood across his face. The branches had scratched him terribly, and one branch had pierced through his shoulder. He found he didn't care. The pain from his chest area was enough to block out all other sensations. His ribs were shattered, piercing his other organs and he felt like at any point his guts would come spilling out of him. He could feel them moving around and knew that death would be waiting for him at the end.

But first he would finish this. He took sadistic pleasure in his dominance over the man in front of him. He was filled with rage that an elf would best him and took his anger out through his fighting. Each blow came down harder than the last. He knew the time would come when he'd feel the blackness approach, but before it claimed him, he would raise his sword, and bring it down straight into the head. He grinned, widely so that it stretched across his burnt face. It was terrible to behold.

Aragorn could not defend himself. He called upon all of his lessons in the art of combat, but was simply too injured to do much but try to roll away from the blows. He struggled not to cry out, but as the beating seemed never-ending, he found himself moaning low in his throat. He would not be able to take this forever.

* * *

Legolas pulled his dagger around and slid it smoothly along the base of the spider's head. It tumbled down to land at his feet, the mouth opening and closing a few times before going still. The prince now turned quickly to his left, and began to hack away at the spiders that were coming from that side. At points he swung widely, hoping to scare the creatures back a few steps. This was really a last measure to buy himself time. His side felt raw and the stitches were pulling at his skin, causing a distinct feeling of pain. Pulling lose threads of hair away from his face, he glanced down at himself to assess his condition.

He had pulled his arm down in close, and using his hand, put pressure on the wound, but this action comprised his ability to defend himself. There was nothing to be done for it. He wished that he had his bow so that he could break free and the pick the spiders off from the distance.

As he swung his dagger again the world around him went white. At first he thought that this was a result of his vision failing, but he soon realized the truth. The spiders had thrown the web over his form, and now they pulled on the ends with their claws and fangs. Legolas's feet were jerked out from under him, and he fell hard, his dagger falling from his hand. Fortunately for him, he landed on his other side so the injuries remained closed.

The fall had cost him his breath though, and shock waves radiated through the old wounds. He was winded, and couldn't move. But he knew he must or else the spiders would drag him off.

With an effort that brought more tears to his eyes, he tried to rise. The sticky web only entangled him, and a spider jumped forward, pushing him back down, its claw digging into his shoulder. He felt himself being dragged away, he couldn't tell which direction they were taking him. He knew that in a few moments it wouldn't matter, he would be undoubtedly stung.

The spiders were trying to haul him out of reach of the other two. Gimli and Thranduil had seen instantly Legolas's peril when the net dropped over him, but other spiders were scurrying in front of them, blocking their path. Gimli watched with horror as they began to drag his friend off into the darkness.

* * *

The blackness began to creep into his vision. Saul knew it was time. He dropped the mithril tip, and grasping his sword with both hands he raised it, ready to bring it down with the results of drawing Aragorn's life to conclusion.

Aragorn could see the metal rising. He was gasping for air, he could hardly move. Sanul's kicks had bruised him badly, and his nose was bleeding freely. He thought that there also might be a snapped rib or two. He lay there knowing that Sanul meant to finish it off this time. He could only stare ahead with a dazed look in his eyes. He had never expected to go out in this fashion.

A piece of gleaming metal caught his vision. It was the mithril blade. Aragorn's mind cleared and he suddenly knew what to do. As the sword fell to connect with his head, he rolled towards Sanul, the sword missing his head and only scratching his upper arm. He scooped up the mithril dagger and grasping it, plunged it into the stomach of the corsair.  
Exhausted he sank back to the earth, clutching his shoulder hoping that his plan would work.

Sanul dropped his sword. A startled choking noise came from him, there was no other sound. He clutched at his stomach and a confused look came into his eyes. He stared down at Aragorn, then turned his gaze to his hand, which was coated with blood. He turned away and staggered a few steps, his vision doubling.

A burning sensation was rapidly spreading throughout his body. Ah yes, the poison. Sickly he remembered that no antidote existed. It was why he had used it in the first place. As he felt it course through his body, he legs locked and he tumbled to the ground. He made an attempt to cough, but could only manage a weak gasping. His throat was closing up.

As he lay there, in the last moments of his life, he saw dimly the other man pull himself upright to a sitting position. The man was watching him, a strange look of satisfaction and pity mixed on his face. Sanul wanted to kill him, but he knew that this would be impossible. The man was still holding the mithril tip, an ironic twist of fate that Sanul should be the one to die from it.

Darkness pulled at his mind, and the captain gave in to the shadows. His last breath left through his bloodied lips, and life fled his body.

He had finally been defeated.

* * *

Thranduil was furious. Rage overcame his mind and he attacked every moving thing in his path in order to reach his son. He was determined not to lose him again. Spiders flew left and right from the king's path, some from coming into contact with his weapon, others just running in fear. He and Gimli now fought and raced through the spider masses, trying to reach Legolas in time.

They didn't make it.

But the dwarven army did.

Ten dwarfs who were only a small fraction of the larger force came jumping out from the trees, into the clearing. Glee was on their faces as the surveyed the desperate situation. This was not because they took pleasure in suffering, but rather because they took pleasure in battle, slaying enemies. With battle cries they rushed into the fray, slicing and hacking with their mighty weapons. The spiders didn't know what hit them.

Gimli gave a shout of surprise and laughter. His people had finally come. New hope surged through his chest. He knew the determinedness a dwarf feels in battle, which meant that this one would soon be over. The dwarves of the Glittering Caves were formidable fighters.

The dwarves hewed their way over to Legolas, quickly and deftly slicing through the webbing that crippled the elf prince. Now he rose from the sticky net and added his skills to the fight. Two dwarves, seeing that he suffered from injuries, stayed by his side to help defend him. No more spiders made it past.

Spiders around them all were panicking; they fled in random directions, some heading deeper into their territory, others towards the battle. Their bodies littered the ground where some of the more clumsy beasts tripped over them, leaving them open to death. Others tried to stop and eat the dead, but most just fled off into the darkness.

The group of dwarves took off after them, Thranduil, Gimli and Legolas running with them. All were headed out of the territory and into the main battle. It was one Thranduil was looking forward too. It would be satisfying to teach the corsairs a lesson.

* * *

"Tanvir?"

Aragorn had managed to drag himself to where the fallen tree was smoldering. Sanul had died, his green eyes staring open at nothing for all eternity. Aragorn had not even bothered to go and examine the body. He knew now why those three scratches were so deadly. His attention was focused only on one thing, the elf warrior.

He could barely make it over to the tree. Pain erupted with his every move, and the ground spun and rocked before him, causing him to crawl in lurches. He had finally managed to approach the tree.

"Tanvir, answer if you can!" No reply returned to him.

Anxiously he peered through the branches. Smoke rose up and caused him to cough harshly, but he only leaned down further, he was in no danger of being burned. Finally he spotted the elf.

Pulling the burnt wood away, he grabbed hold of Tanvir's upper arm and began moving the elf out. Tanvir had not been trapped underneath the trunk, something for which Aragorn was immensely thankful.

The elf did not respond to his touch, nor did he answer any of Aragorn's queries. Finally his whole body was pulled away from the tree. Aragorn had his first clear view of him.

The ranger cringed, and bit back tears. Tanvir's arm was twisted at a sickening angle, but that was not what bothered the ranger. The elf had been burnt. Horribly. Much of his tunic was nothing more then singed thread, and his skin was bloody.

But it was the face that made Aragorn want to cry. The once handsome and fair features of Tanvir were now scarred and burnt. His skin was black and raw, blood running down tiny paths onto the shoulders. At one place Aragorn could see a bit of white bone. Tanvir's long dark hair, which had been braided back earlier was mostly burned away, leaving a bloodied scalp exposed. The elf's lips were open slightly, and he seemed to be murmuring to himself. It was this that gave Aragorn the only comfort he could find. It meant that the elf was at least still alive.

Aragorn continued to move his friend. New rage against the corsair entered his mind, making his chest tighten, and he wished that the death had been painful. Tanvir had given everything to save his life, nearly sacrificing his immortal one. The burns upon the face were most likely sending him into shock, and from shock death would follow.

Aragorn looked around. He needed help to get out of this area. The fires were moving in, cutting off paths of escape. He didn't have time, nor the energy to be able to switch directions and crawl another way. The battle ultimately had taken too long, the fires had spread. He and Tanvir were rapidly becoming trapped in an ever-closing circle of flame.

* * *

A great battle now took place. The dwarves rushed upon their enemies, sweeping through them like the wind. Elves and men cheered tiredly, and took up the arms one last time.

Corsairs and spiders were panicking. The pirates stayed and fought, confident that their captain would appear with an amazing solution. It was only a few minutes before they realized that Sanul was nowhere to be found. Then, as the cowards they were, they turned a fled into the forest. A cry of victory rose from the elves.

The retreat did not last long. The corsairs were met with the problem of having no place to flee to. Fire cut off seemingly every single one of their entrance paths. With the dwarves behind them and the fire in front of them the corsairs were trapped and effectively wiped out.

Axes sliced through heads, spilt open guts, and decapitated limbs. Spiders were also included in the dwarves' victorious run. They fell from trees, being shot by elven archers, and any who were not in the trees were cut up by the deadly, wielded axes. In between areas of flames the enemies of Mirkwood were being destroyed. There was no way for the advantage to be retaken. The dwarves had upped the odds greatly to the elves favor.

Those who tried to run through the wall of fire couldn't do it. The inferno was too great. The heat from just from getting too close was enough to burn. And beyond the first initial wall there were hundreds of other smaller barriers of ash and burning trees. In short, the corsairs were soundly defeated.

* * *

Legolas had a grim smile on his face. An immense feeling of satisfaction was in his chest. He had borrowed a bow from one of his folk, and was taking distinct pleasure in the way the arrow shot forward and lodged itself into his enemies.

He was walking calmly in pursuit of them. They who were fleeing in terror. With the dwarfs on his side he didn't need to worry any more about the outcome of the battle. At his left, Gimli fought, picking off the corsairs who fell behind, and who did not fall to Legolas's marksmanship.

The bow was his weapon of choice. Never was there another weapon so elegant, graceful and deadly. He loved the way it felt in his hands, and he loved how the tension of the bow controlled the power of the shot. He also appreciated the challenge it set for him. With each shoot, Legolas calculated the distance, force required, and wind strength. He also took into account chance of error and his enemy's movement. All this and a hundred other variables had to be taken into consideration before each shoot was fired, and Legolas never missed.

He sighted a target and let another arrow lose. The corsair stopped short, then fell to the ground, dead, an arrow lodged firmly through the back of his head and out the front.  
Legolas reached back into his quiver, pulled and fitted another shaft, and then with his keen eyes, went to spot a spider. It felt good to take his vengeance.

* * *

Aragorn crawled some more, dragging Tanvir behind him. The elf had not yet regained consciousness for which Aragorn was thankful. The pain he knew, would be great. He hoped that Tanvir might be spared that for as long as possible.

He also knew that they weren't going to make it. The fire was moving too fast, and even as he crawled he could see their path becoming cut off. The flames were consuming everything around him, and that would mean him and Tanvir too.

He tried hard not to look at the burnt face, but his only other option was to look at the burnt away path to freedom. He whole body ached, and already numerous times he had tried to stand, but each attempt ended with the same result: failure.

His injuries were still too fresh for him to be able to brush them off as he usually did. He cursed at himself, and then finally yielded to the situation. He straightened out Tanvir's body and then sat up a little straighter. His hand had moved to his breast where the Evenstar lay. He caressed it gently and new tears sprung to his eyes. How he wished to see Arwen one last time! Her image floated before his eyes, her beauty stunning him. He held the Evenstar tightly in his hand, and closed his eyes. He wished to die thinking of and seeing his wife in his mind. If only someone would notice their peril and come to help them.

No one came. Only the flames moved in, tightening the ring.

* * *

Legolas looked around him. The corsairs were dying; there were only a few stragglers. The spiders had fled into the darkness, and Mirkwood was now the unchallenged kingdom of the elves once more.

Except it was not. The victory became hollow before the elf's eyes. Legolas saw how the fire was beyond controlling, even with the new aid from the dwarfs. It raged out beyond restriction, a huge blazing wall of destruction. The wall raced towards their position, eating up the trees as it went, moving from branch to branch with the speed of the wind.

The survivors now found that their victory was short-lived. They had to flee from the advancing flame, or else burn alive. The dried out trees quickly caught and burst into a new flame. Their cries echoed everywhere. There was nothing the elves could do, though they desperately wished so. The forest was burning down, and they could not save their homes. They could not even reach the Corsair ships to let free their captured friends and other folk.

Legolas found himself running with Gimli to the stables. There Arod was stamping about impatiently. The horse sensed that danger was coming. The elf leapt nimbly up onto his back, and pulled Gimli up beside him. The dwarf clutched at his waist.

With a kick of the elf's heels, Arod bolted out of the stable, along with other Elven riders who had come to save their horses. They rode out away from the advancing flame. Others ran on foot beside them, moving as fast as they could.

Gimli didn't say anything. He didn't know what to do. He could feel Legolas's shoulder shaking from time to time, and knew that the elf was sobbing, for his home and the lost trees.

An empty pit had opened up inside of the prince. He refused to accept it. The world seemed unreal to him as he galloped through the woods, a ways to go before the open plains were reached. The flames licking their heels all along the way.

Elves came reeling out of the woods, coughing and gasping from the smoke. Horses were ridden up to hill edges and then pulled around, halting. Under the night sky the forest was glowing red from the flames. Along the boarder a wail rose to the heavens.

Much of the forest was gone.

* * *

the end...until the next chapter that is...scared you for a second didn't I? (hee hee) 


	11. Death and Despair

The next chapter arriveth! I'll ask it now, because I have a feeling some of my reviewers aren't going to like what I've done, but please! don't flame me! (it is my fic after all.) 

MelanyeBaggins: You flatter me! I'm sorry you missed your stop : )

_Death and Despair_

The smoke was thick, making the two figures in the circle look like dark shapes from far off. A figure lay stretched out on the ground, the other sitting beside it. One looking at this would have wondered how they were still managing to live when the smoke was so thick one could hardly breathe.

The figure sitting up was Aragorn, and indeed, he seemed on the verge of passing out. He was trying to stay low to the ground, but it didn't help much. He was overcome with choking coughs, and his eyes were closed.

Until...

Aragorn's eyes shot open. His body went completely still, and for a second he didn't really react to anything at all. His entire mind was focused on one sense. He couldn't believe what his ears reported to him.

He had been thinking of Arwen, trying to imagine that he could watch over her and be near her in death, when somewhere off to the left, there were hoof beats. Many of them it seemed, and by the sound, the animals were being ridden hard.

Aragorn struggled to move a little towards the direction, ignoring how close the flames were becoming. He shouted with all the breath he had left, "Hey! HEY! There is someone still here! I have one who is injured! Please! Please hear me!"

By the sound though, it seemed the horses and their riders passed him on, too far off to hear his calls over the roar of the fire. Aragorn continued to shout anyways, becoming dizzy from lack of air, but clinging to this last offering of hope.

* * *

Arod ran skillfully, Legolas's guidance not needed. His white coat was streaked with dirt and sweat. The horse sensed his Master's grief, and did his best to make the ride as easy as possible. For indeed the elf was hardly paying attention to what his horse was doing, his mind was consumed with sorrow, and his side with pain.

When he had mounted Arod, he had foolishly put Gimli behind him, leaving the dwarf no other option but to hold him or fall off. There was no time now to stop and move the dwarf up front, and so Legolas had to endure the agony the dwarf was causing his side wound, however unintentionally.

Indeed Gimli did not realize he was causing Legolas pain, or else he would have demanded a switch in places. He had never felt so uncomfortable in his life, riding behind his grief-stricken friend. He found himself staring at the patch of blood on the elf's back, which had been caused by the spider's claw. He wished he had a bandage to place over it. He wished for anything that might stop the fire and save the forest, ending this horrible nightmare. Most of all, he wished he knew how to comfort his friend right now, instead of riding silently behind him. He felt like a hindrance.

Arod leapt over a fallen tree, startling the dwarf who gripped the waist suddenly tighter than before. Legolas's eyes widened in surprise as even more pain flowed through him. A low moan escaped his throat and for a moment he became completely disoriented, the world spinning. Tears caused by the wound now also sprung to his eyes. How he wished he had put Gimli in front!

He felt the dwarf trying to shift his weight, and wished that he would hold still. If the dwarf did fall off, Legolas didn't know if he would be able to dismount and mount again without losing consciousness. As if reading his mind, the dwarf settled, keeping his crushing grip on the elf's waist. Legolas gasped as his whole side throbbed, his head seemingly pounding as hard as Arod's hoofs against the ground.

Arod kept riding, ignorant of this, bearing the two ever towards the plains.

* * *

Thranduil had managed to find a brown stallion. Now he rode upon it, two other elves escorting him. They were behind the main group of elves who had left about three minutes before them, but it was only fitting that the King was the last to enter into the retreat.

His very soul, like his son's, was consumed with sadness. He cried hard for the second time since this whole catastrophe started. He mourned every tree that passed away into ashes, their beautiful spirits and wisdom lost forever.

This grief was nothing compared to his rage however. His eyes burned with anger at the sights around him. Anger at himself and at this fate, that he could do absolutely nothing to save his peoples' homes. And mostly, frustration that he was fleeing before the fire; that he had to turn his back to it and ride for his life. Thranduil was not accustomed to this.  
He followed the other elves riding beside and ahead of him, they who were following the faint tracks of the other groups gone before.

* * *

He was still shouting. Aragorn's voice was going hoarse, but he didn't stop. He could hardly draw breath in the smoke; he shouted anyways. He couldn't even tell if there were still riders going past, but the man was beyond caring. He would shout until the flames claimed his body and Tanvir's.

"Please! Over here! There are injured!"

Tanvir was turning his head quietly, lost in elven delirium and pain. Aragorn moved his attention to him for a second, trying to hold the head still so as to stop further damage. Tanvir was hurting enough as it was.

Another set of hoof beats reached his ears, the closest ones to him yet, he estimated. He instantly shouted the loudest he could, using up all of the last air in his lungs, "OVER HERE! INJURED! HEY, OVER HERE! PLEASE!" He wasn't sure, but he thought he heard a pause in the canter. He cast his eyes desperately around in all directions, gasping in the smoke, looking for forthcoming aid.

* * *

Arod jerked rapidly to the left, spurred to do so by a flaming tree collapsing to their right. Gimli's position on the back was mildly precarious and so he grabbed harder around the elf's waist to steady himself from sliding off.

As another wave of pain sprung up his side, Legolas's eyes rolled backwards, the whites showing. He wanted to scream, but couldn't as the pain robbed him of all breath. Gimli's hand had come down right on the wound, pressing into it hard, ripping three of the stitches Aragorn had so carefully sewn. The elf endured it for a few seconds, trying to remain alert. Then his lids slipped shut and he slumped forward, unconscious, finally giving into the anguish and suffering.

Gimli's mouth dropped open, and he reacted just in time to reach out and take hold of his friend more firmly before the elf toppled from the horse. Using one hand to now clutch Arod's mane, Gimli used the other to support his friend's still form. Worry and shock was all over his face, this was the last thing he had prepared for. Working hard, Gimli managed to stay upon the horse's back and ride.

He risked a glance down at the elf. The face was deathly white, and the body was completely limp. Maneuvering his hand around over the chest, Gimli felt it rising beneath him and gave a small sigh of relief; at least the elf hadn't died. But the jarring from the horse's galloping was not helping the conditions. Gimli hoped desperately that they were almost free of the woods so that they could dismount and he could tend to the prince.

* * *

The elves riding ahead of him paused as he did. Far away, he had heard something.

Thranduil had been focusing on his riding, it was an unfamiliar steed under him, but his keen sense of hearing had picked up a cry off to his left. He could not hear all of the plea, but he did hear, very faintly, "...injured! Hey!...here!" Then there was only silence again.

He turned his horse in the direction and the elves with him followed his lead. After a few seconds of hard riding they came upon a perimeter of fire, which under his guidance, his horse burst through in a mighty leap.

There was smoke everywhere, and Thranduil saw that he was in a circle of flame, two figures in the center of it. He recognized both instantly.

One was Tanvir, and the other Lord Aragorn. Thranduil was surprised to see him; he had not known that there was more than one king under the treetops. He knew men of Gondor had arrived, but somehow had not been informed that the king himself led them.

As he rode closer, the two other elves upon horseback leapt through the fire ring. They followed their king over to where the injured lay.

Aragorn's eyes were watching Thranduil as he approached, to the elf, the man looked spent. His lids were hooded, and he wore an expression as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. The king noticed that blood and bruises covered him, the man was obviously in pain.

Thranduil turned his gaze to Tanvir. Shock exploded in his mind. How sad to see his son's friend so! The horrible burning brought even more sorrow to the king's heart, he had known Tanvir for many years, the roamer had been one of his favorites amongst Legolas's elf friends. By taking a quick look around Thranduil judged that a great fight had taken place.

He also judged that it was time to get out.

He dismounted quickly and moved to Aragorn. The ranger looked up at him.

"You heard me."

"Yes, just barely. You are very fortunate." Thranduil examined the man carefully while he spoke, checking to make sure it would be safe to move him. Although, he reflected, they didn't have much choice.

"I know..." the man's voice faded for a second, "It was our last chance."

"Come on, you and Tanvir must get up on our horses, we all are riding out."

But Aragorn didn't seem to hear him, he was staring behind Thranduil, at some fixed spot in the air, he murmured something that the elven king couldn't understand.

Thranduil squeezed his shoulder gently, "Stay with me."

The man blinked, redirecting his thoughts with an effort of will obvious to the elf.

With aid, Aragorn stood, holding onto the horse for balance. Thranduil mounted and then had one elf help boost the man up while he pulled. Aragorn managed to get on the back, barely conscious. Thranduil held his body in between his arms, steadying his horse while he watched another elf drape Tanvir across the back of a white steed, and then mount, also holding the body in front.

The remaining elf swung up onto his horse and the three riders turned back to their original direction, and with great bursts of speed, rode out of the fire ring.

The ring drew in closer upon itself, until it was completely filled with flame. The two had been saved just in time. A few minutes later, Thranduil would not have found them but rather their charred remains. Sanul's body burned away to nothing but bone cinders as the others rode off to safety.

* * *

Elves continued to emerge from the trees out onto the plains. All ran a certain distance, and then stopped, turning around to pay their last respects to the woods. The night was dark and windy, and the flames could be seen in the main part of the forest. There was no starlight as the dark clouds and smoke hid them from sight. Thus the elves had not even the light of Elendil to bring comfort to them.

At a place against the boarder a white horse came galloping out, lingering smoke caressing its form. Upon it sat Gimli and Legolas. After the dwarf judged them to be a safe distance away from the woods, he slowed Arod to a halt.

Arod snorted and stamped against the ground. His long tail swished from side to side, and he tried to glance back at his riders.

Gimli carefully slid to the ground, holding Legolas up on the horse's back with one hand. When his feet had hit the solid earth beneath him he turned his attention to getting Legolas down without inflicting more wounds.

The dwarf pulled both legs over onto the same side, and then stopped. He wasn't sure what to do next. Though the elves were light, Gimli could not support his friend's entire weight from this position.

Arod, being an elven horse, sensed this. He slowly lowered himself to the ground, and then Gimli was able to bend down and lift Legolas away. He laid the elf down on a patch of dying grass. Arod trotted around them, cooling off from his long run.

Legolas's eyes fluttered open. Gimli jumped back, startled a bit.

"Legolas?"

There was no answer; the eyes were staring at nothing, clouded as the sky was. Gimli realized that his friend was still unconscious. He began to search for what had caused the elf to black out. Finding nothing wrong with what he could see, Gimli opened the tunic.

Instantly the reasons presented themselves. The whole side of the chest was red, and stitches in the wound had ripped, letting some blood flow. The wound was not drastically reopened as before, but it was bleeding. Gimli remembered suddenly how he had been holding onto the elf and realized that it was by his own actions that had caused Legolas to shutdown. He felt himself flush with shame. He should have known!

Wind blew across the plains, whipping golden hair across his friend's face. Gimli pulled it back and tried to think. He had to stop the blood, and keep pressure on the wound until he could find Aragorn or some other healer. As he moved to do this he glanced again at the elf's face.

The eyes were directed towards the forest, Gimli knew that Legolas could see it burning in his dreams. This was because tears were sliding down to drip onto the dying grass.

* * *

They had been riding for a while now and Aragorn fought to remain awake. Ever since Sanul had stabbed him he had wanted to give in to the shadows, and every time they called to them he pushed them back stubbornly.

He was falling away though nonetheless. His head would fall forward, and then he would snap back upright, causing it to ache along with the rest of his body. At every canter his ribs were jarred and this was what pained him the most. He was not bleeding from the mouth though, and so knew that no insides had been pierced. The king's hands were holding him in place or else he would have fallen off long ago. The trees rushed past him, blurred in his vision.

He tried to look around to see where the other rider with Tanvir was, but this produced in him a great feeling of nausea and so he stopped quickly.

Ahead of him the smoke seemed to lift. The ranger was confused. He had forgotten that they were leaving the forest.

Thranduil and his group were the last ones to exit. The king rode up the hill and glanced around. His people were gathering in groups, breaking the wagons apart to form shelters from the strong winds. Looking down at the body in between his arms Thranduil knew that Aragorn and Tanvir could both benefit greatly from such shelter. He rode over to the nearest wagon.

His party dismounted and they set Tanvir down gently. Aragorn slid off the horse with Thranduil's aid, and then staggered away a few steps by himself. A moment later he was vomiting. The king watched for any blood mixed in, but there was none.

After the shelter was formed the two injured were put inside, Thranduil quickly mixing a herb into a cup of water. He gave it to Aragorn, who drank it without question, realizing at the first sip what was in it and what it did. The man did not seem to care, but leaned back and drained it dry.

A moment later his eyes closed, and he slumped backwards. Thranduil eased him to the ground, and then he another light-haired elf set about straightening the ribs. A moan or two came from the throat, but other than that the man was quiet. The ribs were bandaged tightly, and herbs were applied to the bruises. The slashes across the chest and shoulder were easily cleaned and wrapped. The leg was carefully exposed, washed, and then covered with herbs. Later it would be cleaned again and then bandaged as well.

The king, who was really not that bad of a healer himself, now turned his full attention to Tanvir.

With a closer look he knew that there was precious little any of them could do. The face and body were so horribly burnt that Tanvir was hardly recognizable. He was continuing to bleed, and his eyes were shut.

Thranduil took a cloth and began to work on the chest. He wiped away at the blood and began to remove the burnt skin. As he worked, another elf went to mix herbs to deaden pain and to provide strength. Tanvir was going to need as much as he could get.

* * *

Gimli looked down at his handiwork. The stitches were not as nice as Aragorn's, but they would do. He had borrowed a needle from a passing maiden, and he had re-sewn the injury shut. He even had remembered to wipe it clean and re-bandage.

Now he sat by his friend anxiously as the wind picked up. Far off in the distance he could see lighting flash. But it was far off, and the thunder faint. Shivers still raced down his spine.

He tried to shield Legolas from the wind as best he could, but it was a nearly impossible task.

Again, Arod being a good horse, came up and laid down beside them so that they were in his lee. Gimli was surprised at the action. He understood that the bond between the master and horse must go deep. Arod's decision served its purpose though; the two friends were somewhat safe from the wind.

Legolas showed no signs of coming too, and Gimli began to worry again.

* * *

Tanvir was dying. The burns were great and the elf did not have enough power to hold back their damage. Thranduil tried everything he could think of, the chest had been completely cleaned and wrapped, but that didn't seem to be sufficient. Tanvir was falling away from them.

In the dim light the elves labored to save the life.

* * *

Arod was nudging Legolas's shoulder. There was no reaction. Gimli called his friend's name over and over, but the eyes remained blank, staring at the trees.

From his point of view, Legolas was walking amongst them. They were not burning; they were as they were before the drought, healthy and beautiful. The rich green foliage covering the sky, letting a few patches of sun past here and there. Their souls spoke to him and washed over him so that he felt at peace. Their branches swayed in the wind, the leaves rustling quietly.

As he walked he came upon a group that had obviously burned away. Their trunks were smoldering ruins, steam rose up from them. As he drew near them he saw that the ground around the trunks were full of hot embers. He saw the green leaf again, withered to nothing. Here the absence of the trees presence jarred memories back to him, changing the whole view of what he saw.

He whirled around and saw the peaceful wood vanish. Instead there was only bodies left behind. Hundreds of spider legs lay about him, he could take a step without crunching one underfoot. He wanted desperately to get out, but could not remember the direction.

He turned and ran off, away from the burnt stumps. As he ran past the legs, they reached out and clawed at him. He shuddered, and hot salty tears ran down his face, both in his vision and in real life. Some flowed into his mouth and he tasted their bitterness.

He burst out of the death land and fell to the plain ground. He turned back to look at the forest burning behind him. The trees were smoking and light was flashing from somewhere. He blinked. What he was seeing was real. He had returned to the world of the waking.

He moaned and tried to sit up to see where he was. Instantly Gimli was beside him.

"Legolas!"

The elf struggled to sit, "Please," his voice was strained, "Help me to move."

Gimli pulled Legolas up so that the elf leaned against the chest off his horse, staring out at the woods. For some unknown reason to Gimli, he shuddered violently.

Legolas didn't say anything, only cried as he watched his home burn. He cried, as he had not for a very long time. The despair coursed through his veins as surely as his blood.  
Gimli sat down beside him, saying nothing, and hoping that he was not bothering his friend. His presence however, was the opposite, comforting, and Legolas did not ask him to leave. The elf had found that his distress was moving beyond tears. His cheeks were wet, but the salt upon them were drying as he watched his only home he had ever known burn away to ashes.

After a moment he buried his face in his hands, unable to bear the sight. He had reached one of the lowest points of his life in his many, long years.

* * *

Tanvir felt strange. Well, actually, that is not accurate. He couldn't really feel anything at all because he had lost nerve sensations over most of his body. He had gone completely numb, though he was the only one who knew this. But the numbing blocked all the pain, thus the only reason why he was regaining consciousness.

He tried to move. He found that he could not even twitch his fingers. He could perceive others moving around him, but he couldn't make out who they were. He couldn't make out much of anything, only that he seemed to be inside somewhere. _Perhaps the palace?_

He did not feel it as Thranduil pulled away the dead skin on his face, nor did the trickling off blood across his shoulders bother him. He wondered what fate had been bestowed upon the evil man he had battled. He wished he could know whether or not Aragorn was all right. He would have to find and ask the man later, or perhaps Legolas would be able to tell him? He would have to find his friend. And the dwarf. Tanvir gave a small smile to himself, he would have to find Gimli so they could exchange battle stories. He greatly respected the fellow warrior, he would have liked to travel with him as Legolas had.

His thoughts were disjointed and he relived memories of earlier days before he had lived in Mirkwood. He felt his breath come suddenly very short, and a painful sensation spread through his body.

Someone was speaking to him he realized. Tanvir hadn't noticed because of the pain. He couldn't make out what they were saying. He lay quietly, trying to recall exactly what had happened to him. He couldn't remember. All he could remember was that somewhere during the fight Sanul had sliced him with a mithril blade, and that it had burned.

A moment later he passed back into darkness, never to leave it again.

* * *

Thranduil was there. Tanvir had opened his eyes and had looked straight at him. The elf had spoken rapidly in elvish, saying that Aragorn must be Legolas's hunting partner now, and that Legolas would have to shoot a deer for him.

Thranduil had spoken to him, trying to sooth what he saw as delirium. Then Tanvir had moaned, turning his head as if struggling. The elves tried to hold him, and under their touch he went still. His eyes looked upwards and a small smile played across his lips. His chest rose and fell, and then came to rest. It did not move anymore. The eyes closed slowly, clouding over in death, never again to look upon the light of the stars.

The poison upon the blade had done its work. Even if the others had known about the wound, there would have been nothing they could do. There was no antidote.

Thranduil, closed his eyes, one of his tears fell to hit against Tanvir's face and roll down the burns. He crossed the arms and covered the body.

So it was that Tanvir of Mirkwood passed away from the lands of Middle-Earth.


	12. Recovering

ok, I deeply apologize for the time it took to get this next update! But finally!!!! I can log in!! YAY!!!! I think my computer may have had a virus, but it has been fixed now! 

This chapter is kind-of short, but I'm already starting the next one as you read this. There's still a little bit more before the story is completely concluded.

also, I have had multiple reviewers ask me a question about the 'drastic consequences' I mentioned in my summary. I see those as him (legolas) being attacked, nearly killed, his home burning and his friend dying. I thought those were pretty drastic, sorry if my summary mislead you.

Deana: Thanks for the heads up about updating in slot thirteen. I was just going to delete the author's note and put this in slot twelve. Good thing you warned me! whew!

Onto the next chapter!!!!

_Recovering_

__The silence grew deafening. Legolas had not moved, had not made a sound, for some time. He sat, with his palms pressed tightly against his cheeks, trying to suppress his grief desperately. He knew that once he surrendered to it completely, he would be lost in his despair. Tears were already threatening to fall again into his hands, and next to him, Gimli could see his shoulders shaking slightly from time to time.

The dwarf was furious with himself. Give him a battle situation and he was as ready as anyone, eager even, to join into the danger. But take this same dwarf and put him in a situation where delicacy and extreme sensitivity was required and he became suddenly nervous, awkward even. He was not good with sensitivity.

Here he sat, his friend in obvious distress, but he couldn't think of anything to do or say. A couple of times he cleared his throat to say something, but the words stuck in his mouth. This situation was so painful, what could he, a mere mortal, offer to an immortal soul, one that must bear this sadness long after he was dead? For indeed, it would take Mirkwood a long time for it to regain its former glory.  
But with another shudder passing through his friend, Gimli decided that it didn't matter. He would do his best to ease some of the pain; he was determined. He opened his mouth, "Legolas, I know that what you are feeling must be terrible, but the situation is not as bad as all this."

Legolas flashed him a sharp glance, his own mouth twisted with sorrow, "How is that Master Dwarf?"

_Great, now I've got him angry_. "Well, Mirkwood was full of darkness right?"

Legolas turned to face him fully, "Not where the elves dwelt. Where our flets were, it was elegant, the trees tall and full." His eyes strayed to look back at the forest, "The leaves would whisper to us as we walked, and light was always present, be it from the sun or stars. It was comforting on winter nights to walk on paths and see the branches powdered in the light snow, being able to sense new life, to welcome it in the spring with our festivities." Tears began to flow down his face, "Now all is clouded in smoke and we have fled. Our homes are burning, taking with them precious memories, and the trees are dying. I cannot hear the leaves' whispers, they have all withered away. It has become a forest of charred stumps, of death!" The elf bowed his face again, tears coursing to the ground. A sob escaped his throat, and he put his hand up to his mouth, trying to hold it back, his grief making his body tremble.

Gimli was for a moment startled into silence, he rarely heard Legolas speak this way. Bravely he pursued the conversation, "The fire will die out sometime, and then the influence of your folk will return. Mirkwood will become as before again. Better because all the foul creatures will be dead."

"No," Legolas's voice was quiet and shaky, "It can never be the same." His eyes acquired a hollow look to them, and he moved to gaze out at the burning treetops. As Gimli watched, frustrated at himself, and getting ready to try again, a trickle of water ran down Legolas's face. The dwarf assumed it was another tear.

Legolas however, jerked forward, his eyes becoming wide and confused. The dwarf noticed this.

"Legolas?" Gimli leaned forward.

Legolas put his hand to his face, and then, pulling it back, stared at it. His expression went funny, partly intense sorrow, and partly great joy. The dwarf could not see what was so incredible; the elf had simply wiped the water from his cheek. As Gimli watched, another drop landed on the hand.

He looked up at Legolas's eyes, they were now dry. But that meant then that the second drop couldn't have come from the elf...  
Gimli turned his head upwards so quickly that he popped his neck muscles. He was rewarded with the feeling of something wet hit his nose and roll down its side. Moisture was murmuring upon the wind that blew around. The dark clouds loomed.

Gimli couldn't believe it, "What in...?" he asked unbelievingly.

Legolas choked out an answer, staring also at the sky, "It is starting to rain," he whispered. New tears sprang to his eyes. Raindrops started to splash against his skin, mixing with the tears to wash away some of the soot.

With a rumble of far distant thunder, the clouds opened up, crying down onto the earth. It began to rain hard, everything and everyone out in the open quickly becoming soaked. The wind blew the rain around in torrents; the drops landed everywhere. The rain fell like a great curtain, drenching all under its path.

Deep in the forest where the fire was raging, the tiny droplets hit against the inferno. The fire spluttered, continued, and then one of the thousands of flames went out. Defeated by the billions more drops of rain. A small sizzle of steam rose from its place, the rain soaking through the ground and all over the trees. Nature had finally provided the best defense of all; the fires were being extinguished.

* * *

Drumming. He could hear drumming, the sound was all around him, echoing, pounding through the air.

No, no, it was not the sound of drums. His mind was clearing and he recognized the sound for what it really was, the sound of rain.  
Aragorn's eyes opened and he blinked groggily as the last of the herb wore off. He lay for some time, staring around him and listening. He tried to figure out where he was.

Gradually memories returned as his head cleared. Of riding out of the forest with the king and his men. Reaching the hill, setting up the shelter. Now he sat up slowly, knowing where he was. He looked around.

The shelter they had made was small; barely three or four people could stay inside comfortably he thought. Towards the front of him was the entrance, an old tattered cloak hanging down in front of it, in a half- hearted attempt to keep the elements outside. It was flapping slightly in the wind, giving Aragorn quick glimpses outside.

As the ranger took another breath the smell hit him. The air was permeated with the sickly sweet whiffs of crushed herbs. The odor was overwhelming. Aragorn turned around to find the source and discovered that lying against the wall behind him was...something.

It was covered by another cloak, this one less tattered. Three crushed herbs were set around it. Aragorn supposed that it must be a body, which would explain the reason for the herbs. Someone had crushed them to keep the stench of death out of the air, leaving the inside of the shelter breathable.

Aragorn moved forward to examine the body and see whom it was, but as he shifted his weight, he felt a pain race along his side. Gasping at the unexpected reminder of his injuries, Aragorn now turned to inspect himself.

While he had slept, someone had carefully set his ribs and wrapped them tightly. He should have to move carefully. Also he leg wound had been cleaned, as well as the gashes on his shoulder and upper chest. It seemed Thranduil wasn't such a bad healer.

Speaking of which, Aragorn felt a burst of wind, and spinning around again he saw the tattered cloak lift and the elven king enter.  
The king seemed weighted with sorrow, but when he saw Aragorn was awake, a small smile graced his features. The ranger noticed water was dripping from the elf's hair.

"How do you feel?" The king moved to check his bandages.

Aragorn was focused more on something else though, "Is it really raining? For how long?"

Thranduil gave another small half-smile, "It has been two days since the first drops were felt. It has continued to come down hard. The fires are dying."

Aragorn was startled, "Two days? I was out for--"

"Two days? Yes you were. And judging by how you seem now, I believe your rest did you much good."

"I did not think I was that exhausted." Aragorn thought back earlier. True he had been sore and nearly unconscious, but he had not been near-death, just more like near-collapse.

Near death however...

"Lord, tell me, how fares Tanvir? As I recall his burns were great. Where does he rest?" Even as Aragorn said this, the image of the covered body flashed through his mind. His breath caught in his throat.

Thranduil's whole demeanor changed. His shoulders slumped forward and the small smile on his face vanished. He opened his mouth, but no words came. He seemed at a loss of what to say.

Aragorn knew then, but had to hear it in order for his mind to grasp it. He leaned forward intently, worry in his eyes, "What happened?"

Thranduil looked straight at him, "I am sorry Aragorn. Tanvir has...has died."

Aragorn sat back slowly, his mind shocked for a moment. He looked over to where the body was lying and then went and lifted the cloak away from the head.

Tanvir's face was still, his eyes shut. After his death his burns had been cleaned as best as possible. Even so, the injuries were still present, ruining the impression of finding peace and comfort in death. Aragorn reached down and felt for a pulse, there was none. Tanvir was truly gone.

The ranger quietly pulled the cloak back to how it had been before. He put his back to the body and stared ahead at the opposite wall. The image of Tanvir coming to his defense played through his mind over and over. The battle with the corsair, the tree crashing upon them. Tanvir had sacrificed his life, for a man he had hardly met. It was an act that Aragorn found humbling.

He turned to the king, "Does Legolas know?"

Thranduil shook his head, "I have not been able to find my son among the refugee's yet, though I am relatively sure he made his way out safely. Others have reported to me seeing him and his dwarf friend riding out upon his horse. I have been searching through the many shelters for him in between tending to you."

Aragorn nodded, understanding. He didn't say anything else.

Thranduil glanced sharply at him, "Come, you are still recovering, you must rest. We are both disheartened over Tanvir's death, and this will not provide you strength."

"Maybe in a while." The ranger didn't want to go back to sleep again, so soon after waking up.

The elven king sighed, remembering tales of the man's stubbornness from his son. But he did not press the issue, it was still raining hard, so they wouldn't be going anywhere for the next few days anyways.

He moved to finish checking the bandages while the man dealt with his grief. The rain drummed on the roof, outside the night approached.

* * *

Legolas sat in the small entrance to their shelter, looking out at the rainfall. To him, it was the most beautiful sight he had even seen, distant fires vanishing under the cloudburst. Steam now rose from the trees deep in the forest.

He watched that, and it brought joy to him. The intense grief was still there, for all that had been lost, but with the rain, his sense of hope had been fully restored. The crying of the trees was fading at last.

His eyes danced around, taking in his horse, foolishly playing out under the droplets. Arod was running and bucking, neighing loudly to the sky. He could understand that the rain was good for his master and the others. Watching him, Legolas smiled without realizing it. It was the first one for many days.

The wind whipped his hair, and a few drops splattered against him, but the effect was soothing upon his soul. It had become so ravaged with his grief; he had been on the verge of succumbing to his despair, a fate that would have eventually led to his death. He shuddered, still feeling the intense sorrow from earlier.

It was hard to pinpoint exactly how he felt. The elf's mind was split from the wonderful, breathtaking joy that the rains had finally come, and from the overwhelming sadness that so much suffering and death had taken place in his home.

He heard behind him Gimli moving around, trying to find a comfortable position inside their cramped shelter. He was trying to clean and sharpen his weapons, as Legolas had done over the past days.

The two friends had been initially soaked to the bone during the first few moments of the storm. They had quickly moved from the top of the hill, looking around to find any sort of shelter. The dwarves had left out some of their wagons, and a supply cart. With other elves already claiming the wagons, Legolas and Gimli were stuck with the much smaller cart.

The dwarf had grumbled fiercely about this, but stopped after Legolas pointed out that now they wouldn't worry about catching their next meal. Together, in the dark night, with the wind and rain beating at them, they had managed to construct a cover for themselves, protecting them from Nature's fury.

Once done they had both crawled inside, completely worn-out from the effort. Legolas had fallen asleep immediately, the exhaustion he was feeling showing clear to the dwarf. Gimli had spent a few moments fixing the insides a bit, so that the shelter was better supported from the inside. This way, the two friends wouldn't have to worry about it falling down upon them under the force of the wind.

Then Gimli too had lain down on a blanket, found inside the cart. After a moment, his snores had awoken the elf, who groaned, and covered his ears with his hands. When the snores did not cease he kicked out in the dark, catching his friend in the side. A muffled curse could be heard, and then there was blessed silence. The sound of the rain eventually lulled Legolas back to dreams.

Upon the next day they had gleefully gone over their inventory. It consisted of three blankets, some smoked jerky, a sharpening stone, flints, a knife, dried fruits, and a small skin of water. The flints were no use to them, they could not start a fire in the rain, and to start one inside would be foolish. But the other supplies they could put to good use.

Legolas had also gone over his injuries. The one inflicted upon his back was nearly gone, only a stiff soreness lingered, and his side was coming along nicely, now that Gimli's arms weren't crushing it. The cut on his shoulder was completely healed. He rotated his arm around a few times, stretching the stiffness out from the muscle.

Then the elf had turned his attention to wiping dried blood from Gimli's head, the old injury the dwarf had suffered at the hands of the corsairs. In no time at all, the wound was cleaned properly.

But being forced inside cramped quarters for two days has a tiring effect upon people, especially if those two people happen to be an elf and a dwarf. To get fresh air, Legolas had moved to the doorway where he now sat.

The elf was brought from his reverie by hearing more grumbling behind him, "If you don't mind, some of us don't appreciate an icy wind blowing about inside. Drop the cloak you darn elf."

Legolas smiled again, "Whatever you say Gimli. I understand how the cold could affect your delicate constitution." He came inside and lowered the cloak.

"Delicate! I'll have you know that I have spent days out in a blizzard! There was snow and ice! Your friend managed to survive, with nothing but the clothes on his back! The secret is in moving. If you hold still you'll freeze to death. So I was trapped wandering around, without knowing where I was going for two complete days. Yet here I am now, as sound as ever. Delicate! Humph!" He snorted.

"Hmm," Legolas mused, "Wandering around without having any idea where you might be or are going too...yes, that sounds like the dwarf I know."

Gimli made a startled noise and opened his mouth to retort, but was cut off from a shout outside. Legolas moved back to the entrance. Crouching on his feet, he lifted the cloak back and looked outside.

There was another shout, something Gimli couldn't make out over the sound of the wind, but Legolas obviously did because he shouted back in elvish. Gimli couldn't understand what he was saying.

After a pause, Legolas called something again, and then moved back inside. The elf's face had become taunt with worry, all traces of mischief gone from it.

"Who was that?"

"It was one of my folk, sent from my father. He carried a message." Legolas moved and gathered his weapons, his daggers sliding smoothly into their sheaths. His borrowed bow he held in his hands, his quiver was strapped to his back as usual. He went outside and Gimli followed him, the rain hitting hard against their skin, wind whipping about their clothes. Legolas deftly strapped the bow to his back, now that they were outside.

"What did the message say?"

"My father said he had grave news for me. He wishes for me to come and see him. The other elf is going to show the way."

Gimli looked, and dimly saw another elf waiting patiently a few steps away. The eldar was glancing about, looking up at them, and then back the way he had come, clearly wanting to be off so he could get out of the weather.

"Do you need me to come?"

Legolas looked down at the dwarf, and gave it thought, "No, it might be best if you wait at our shelter so no one can try to claim it."

The dwarf nodded, and moved back into the doorway, watching as his friend took off running into the darkness and downpour. Soon he and the other elf were lost to mortal sight. Gimli sighed, and returned to sharpening his axe, and listening to the rain, waiting for his friend to return.

* * *

Deep in the forest, far back in the rivers, the corsair ships floated. The guards were huddled under their clothes, wishing desperately that they could go inside where it was warm. But they had to stay to look out for any more approaching comrades.

Ever since their raid had begun, corsairs dragging elves moved back and forth from the ship to the woods. Their prisoners to be locked up in the holds with the other slaves. Already there looked to be an immensely rich profit, the holds were crammed full.

But now, it was raining, and many hours had passed since the latest slave had been chained up down below. The guards were becoming nervous, wondering what was going on over where the elves were.

After standing out in the rain for days, the shifts alternating, and then alternating again, finally a holler was given. Two corsairs could be seen staggering about through the trees, tripping and then lurching back up, running as if for their lives.

The guards could soon see why. Behind their crewmates was a wave of about ten spiders chasing them down. As the horrified lookouts watched, one of the two lost his balance and fell. The spiders were upon him and he screamed as they bit into his flesh.

The other corsair ran up to the ship, and they quickly threw a rope out to him. As he clambered him the hull, the guards shot arrows into three of the beasts. The rest of the spiders turned back to resume their meal on the first corsair.

The man who had managed to survive was pulled quickly onto the deck where everyone gathered about him. They were shocked at his condition.

Foam was dripping at his mouth; his eyes were wide and bloodshot. Burns covered his skin; half of his head had obviously caught fire, and was now a bloody mess.

"My gawd! Ginsher? Whot happened to yer?"

The man called Ginsher could only lie there, his eyes staring blankly ahead. The crew fidgeted nervously, then turned to one another.

"We should get outta 'ere."

"Yeah, I aint liken the looks of those spiders. We should move 'fore they come back to finish us."

Another piped up nervously, "But whot about the captain?"

A harsh laugh cut off any answer; Ginsher sat up, a crazy look in his eyes, "The captain? The captain?!" he shrieked, "Dear old cappy is dead mates! Somethin' took him down in that there hell forest, be it men or dwarfs or some monster! This whole plan was doomed ever since we lost our chance of surprise I tell ya! Those cursed elves! Those cursed trees!" Blood dripped from his mouth and he flung about widely, looking dangerously insane.

This was enough for the few crewmembers remaining. Out of all the corsairs who had left the ships to attack, Ginsher was the only one to return alive, if you could call it that. The crew prepared to make way, to leave Mirkwood, and take along their prisoners with them.

* * *

since I forgot to type it up at the top, I'll type it here: everyone is so nice reviewing me!! Many many thanks!!

ok, I'm gonna go start the next chapter. Hoped you liked this one.

silvanelf


	13. Saddening News

I sincerely apologize to everyone for how long it has taken me to get this next chapter updated. I stand properly ashamed of myself, and promise to get the next one up sooner. (just please don't be mad at me!!!) 

I thank you all for your very kind reviews! So finally! The next chapter!

_Saddening News_

The rain fell in the darkness, glimmering in the faint starlight that made it through the mass of clouds overhead. Legolas ran behind his guide, both of them hurried across the hills, not wanting to stay out any longer then they had too. Wind was blowing Legolas's hair and he thought longingly of the blankets and dry interior of his and Gimli's shelter.

He turned his thoughts to what awaited him. What could his father possibly have to say that was so urgent? Legolas thought back to the message, it had been worded, 'grave news'. The elf tried to think of what could have happened that would be deemed grave. Certainly not the rain, that was a cause for rejoicing. He turned his mind over and over the situation, trying to see what he was missing.

_Missing?! The elves! The captured ones dragged off!_ Legolas sucked in his breath and his eyes grew wide. They had forgotten about their folk, they would have to be saved. Legolas would die before he saw another elf bend in servitude to a mortal against their will. He was sure this was what his father had to say. What could be more dire?

He noticed that his guide had stopped in front of a shelter and was waiting for him to catch up. He quickened his pace and arrived at the door. The other elf, satisfied that he had completed his job, again took off running into the dark, probably to his own shelter. Legolas lifted the battered cloak and went inside, glad to be out of the rain.

The first thing he saw was a form, with his back to him, crouched over, checking his waist, which was tightly bandaged. Legolas knew him in a heartbeat.

"Aragorn! It is good to see you alive and somewhat well..."

The man whirled around, grinning, "It is only a few ribs Legolas. Besides, I can say the same thing to you. How are your injuries?"

"They are healed, just stiff."

"That is good. Your father stepped out for a moment. He needed to talk to someone, but then he'll return."

Legolas nodded and moved to sit down next to the ranger, "I understand. It simply gives us time to catch up, we have not spoken for a while. How fared—". The elf cut himself off in mid-sentence as he caught site of what was lying behind Aragorn. The covered body.

Aragorn knew that there could be no putting it off, "Legolas..."

The elf glanced at him, curious, "Is this the reason for the smell? Who has died?"

The ranger whispered, "That is what your father wished to speak to you of."

Legolas stared at him for a moment, clearing not realizing what Aragorn was saying. He looked at the ranger and then moved to pull back the cloth.

Aragorn heard the elf's breath catch. He didn't look at his friend, giving him privacy.

Legolas stared down at what had once been the handsome face of his treasured friend. He found that he couldn't breathe, that he couldn't think. All he could do was stare unbelievingly at what had been a body full of life and energy when he had last seen him. He choked out a question, "What...How?..."

Aragorn spoke quietly, and firmly, "He fought with the corsair leader to save my life. I was seconds from my own death and he stepped in to take over the battle. During the struggle a burning tree crashed upon him. I am sorry my friend, but the burns overwhelmed him. He died with honor, his place in Mandos's halls will be regarded with respect."

Legolas listened, all the while his blue eyes searching over his friend, the grief in them shining sharp. He reached out and gently touched one of the burns that covered the face, then pulled the cloak back up. He sat down with his back to Aragorn and did not make a sound.

The ranger watched his friend with extreme worry. "Legolas? Please do not grieve. Know that in spirit all beings are immortal. Tanvir still lives, he has only gone on to the greater worlds of existence. He isn't suffering anymore. Had he lived his life would have been a harsh, cruel one. Those burns would have scarred him forever. He would not wish you to grieve."

There was still no sound, Legolas remained sitting by his friend, his back turned.

So was the situation when Thranduil returned. He entered the shelter, then stopped short at seeing what had transpired in his absence. He also seemed to instantly grasp what had happened. Moving quietly he seated himself beside Legolas, offering his sympathies with his presence.

Finally Legolas spoke, "This is your grave news."

Thranduil sighed gently, "I am afraid so. I am sorry my son. Tanvir was a good friend to all he knew. Many grieve with you."

Legolas nodded, and turned to look at his father, "I had thought you would wish to speak about those who the corsairs have captured. The elves to be sold as slaves."

Thranduil's eyes flashed, "Yes. I have been speaking with others on this. A runner has been sent to see where our folk have been taken too. He has yet to return. The corsairs shall be taught a lesson for this, one they will not soon forget."

Aragorn spoke, "Until the runner returns though...?"

"We will have to wait. There is nothing else to do."

"There is still something," Legolas rose and began to move towards the entrance, "Gimli must be told of all that has happened. We will both come back this way."

Aragorn also rose, "I would like to come with you. I am tired of staying in here by the body. It is disheartening."

The two friends went outside, Aragorn moving carefully with his ribs. They were healing, but it would take some time. He felt his spirits lifted as a gust of wind hit his face. In truth however, he had opted to come along to keep an eye on his elven friend.

Legolas walked along him, looking at the ground. Now the tears were coming. He did not want to cry with Aragorn around to see, but tears slipped down his face anyways. He and Tanvir had known each other for hundreds of years, had saved each other's lives on more than one occasion. Had gotten into mischief and trouble together. Tanvir had been as close as a brother, as close as Aragorn. The fact that he was dead just seemed to be impossible. It was unreal. It was only some horrible trick, and in a few minutes his father would come running down out of the shelter to laugh at his foolishness.

His father did not come, and it was no trick. Tanvir was dead. The words struck against his body, hurting him as much as the enemy blades did. His friend and companion was dead. No, wait...Legolas looked over at Aragorn's darkened form. His spirit lived, in the Halls of Mandos. Aragorn had been quick to remind him of this. He could see his friend was worried for him, worried that he might fall to despair.

Legolas did not think that would happen. He would live, move past this if only for Tanvir's memory. He would not want his friend to grieve and die over him, should he have been the one to pass away. But he was resolved to have his vengeance upon the corsairs. The very thought of them filled his heart with a hatred so powerful it stirred the air around him. Aragorn felt it, and took a worried glance at his friend. The power of the elves that usually laid dormant had been roused. Legolas's elven wrath showed clear to the ranger, around the elf the surroundings whispered with his rage. Aragorn gave thanks that he wasn't a corsair.

The two friends continued on in the pouring rain and darkness, every now and then Aragorn casting worried glances at his friend, and every now and then Legolas letting a tear fall to the earth, adding his grief to the rainfall.

* * *

The corsairs moved as fast as they could. Still, with so few of them left it was extremely difficult to get the ships ready to make way. It would take them a few more hours at least. The main sails still needed to be prepared and unfurled, and the rigging wasn't set. Water had to be gathered, but no one was eager to leave the relative safety of the ships to brave the possible risk of spiders attacking.

Straws were obtained and the unlucky fellow who drew the shortest one would be made to go and fetch the water. The straw fell to one of the slave overseers, who made his anger about his lot plain to be heard. Swearing and cursing, he was lowered to the shores. He disappeared farther up the banks to find water where there wasn't any corsair garbage polluting it. No one really expected to see him again, not that they cared. Still, everyone seemed relieved when he returned later, with skins full of fresh river water from deeper in the forest.

In all of the bustle that is around when preparing, no one noticed the sharp brown eyes that watched them from the branches, nor heard the silent rustling in the leaves caused by footsteps. The elf runner had arrived and had seen enough to know that all haste was required. From treetop to treetop he hurried back to inform his king what was going on.

* * *

Gimli mourned. Tanvir was dead. He had rather like the elf, sensing a kindred spirit for the warrior's way. It did not seem fair that the spirit had been sundered from them.

He was walking behind Legolas and Aragorn. The two friends had arrived an hour ago at the shelter, and at first Gimli had been greatly pleased. He had been worrying about the fate of Aragorn, not having seen him for a few days. But his happiness soon turned to sorrow at the news the ranger bore. Legolas could not bring himself to speak of it openly, and so it had fallen upon the King of Gondor to inform their dwarven friend.

After some time, during which a few dwarven tears were shed, it was decided that it would be best to return to Thranduil and await the scout's news. So now the three friends were traveling back, the rain falling to the earth around them. Gimli shivered. He wished they could manage to light a fire. But that would be impossible out in this weather. Besides, they couldn't stop here and now, in the middle of a storm.

He occupied himself by watching both of his friends carefully. Aragorn seemed to be doing all right, having had more time to deal with the sadness he felt. But Legolas Legolas had not received any time, and the dwarf could sense the immense anguish coming from his friend, along with a touch of something else...something powerful, that raised the hairs on Gimli's neck. He knew of the power of the elves, but had never seen it truly aroused before. The dwarf knew enough to know that Legolas's rage at the corsairs must be great.

Legolas paid no head to the scrutiny of his friend. Perhaps he did not even notice it. His mind was focused only on two things, his intense grief over the loss of Tanvir, and intense rage at the corsairs for causing so much suffering and cruelty. He looked up. They had reached their destination. With his elven hearing he could hear his father moving around inside the shelter. Suddenly, Legolas did not want to go in. He did not want to have to be in the same room as Tanvir's body. He felt that if he saw it again the despair would wash over and drown him. So he turned and sat down by the door, in the rain.

Aragorn had already gone inside, and so did not see this, but Gimli had yet to enter.

"Legolas?"

"I wish privacy Gimli. I will watch for the runner. Go inside."

The dwarf opened his mouth, but seeing the expression upon Legolas's face, thought better of it and followed what Legolas said. The elf sat by himself in the darkness, his piercing eyes cutting through it as easily as if it were day. Raindrops spattered against him, the storm was fierce. He could smell the herb's odor even from his position, and tried to think of anything but Tanvir. It seemed that his friend was all that came to mind.

Staring up at the sky he quietly lifted to it, up on the wind, a song of mourning.

* * *

He stopped. Now he had reached the point where there were more dead trees than alive ones, putting a halt through his treetop dash. Leaping nimbly to the ground he continued running through the dead forest, ever heading for his King, the images of the corsairs burning in his mind. He could not fail the Mirkwood folk. He footsteps made no noise, and barely a drop of rain touched him. The ashes could only stir slightly at his approach before he was past, a blur of elven grace. He saw the edge of the woods near, soon he would be reporting to the King.

* * *

Legolas watched him run up. Rising he entered the tent with the young elf runner. The youth was out of breath, and it was a few moments before he could speak. Everyone in the shelter watched him anxiously.

"My lord," the elf addressed Thranduil, "The corsairs...they are leaving...they are making way...even as I speak to you. In a few hours they will be gone."

"The cowards." Gimli spat.

"What was their position?" Thranduil asked his runner.

"Floating on our river, a few leagues in from the sea."

Aragorn looked at the king, "What shall we do?"

Thranduil gave a grim smile, "It would be rude of us not to bid our farewells." He turned to the runner, "Assemble the armies. We shall ride to meet them."

Legolas turned at this, and went outside. Putting two fingers in between his teeth, he blew a sharp clear whistle. After a moment, Arod could be seen galloping across the grass to reach his Master's side. He pranced up to the elf, shaking his head under the rain.

Thranduil came outside while the runner moved off to carry out his orders. Soon the surrounding countryside was alive with action, men and elves and dwarves preparing themselves for yet another battle.

Aragorn looked about him. Brego had managed to come out of the forest alive, and had rejoined his master. He mounted, as did Legolas and Gimli, the elf putting the dwarf in front of him this time, just in case.

Legolas looked at his two friends, impatient, "Come on, let us ride on ahead to plan our formations."

Aragorn shrugged, "I see no reason why not. We will scout ahead." This last part was directed at the king, who nodded his consent.

With a kick of his heels, Legolas pulled Arod into a steady canter and rode off towards the forest, Brego galloping right beside him.

A hush seemed to fall around them as they entered the forest. Rain pattered against some of the remaining leaves, and dead trunks. Steam rose from the ground. The fires were gone, but their effects would be around for a long time. Everything seemed grey with ash, which was slowly turning into a thick mud under the rain. It drifted in the air around them, stirred up by the horses. Smoke rose from dying embers.

And there were bodies. As they rode through what had been the battlefield, Aragorn and Legolas had to work hard to steer their horses away from trampling a poor soldier who had met his death. The bodies were covered in the ashes and they faded away in the darkness after being passed by. Aragorn felt his horse becoming uneasy, and spoke to him low and soothingly.

Aragorn's whispers were the only sound. A great silence, heavy and oppressing hung in the air, as if watching to see who dared to disturb this haunting graveyard. The rain fell, bathing everything in a murky curtain of water.

Legolas felt dizzy and lightheaded seeing all of this. He felt as if he wasn't really living, just walking among his dreams again. He wished desperately for someone to speak, to anchor him in the world, but the silence remained. He found himself looking down at the bodies as they passed them, searching for faces he knew. He found many.

His anger increased, and a faint shimmer seemed to radiate from him in the darkness. Not a clear light in any sense, but a hint of the inner light that dwells inside all elves. Arod sensed it and quickened his pace.

Legolas was aware of what was happening to him. His wrath was building, yet he did not feel like checking it. Tanvir was dead and others had suffered. His people had suffered and the trees had died. There was so much death and pain around him it was suffocating. If he did not release his tension somehow he would be pulled away under it all. For always under his wrath was the despair, beckoning to him. He wrenched his mind back to riding his steed and keeping Gimli balanced.

The two horses trotted through the woods, leaving the battlefield behind. But not the memories of the destruction. The images of the dead floated before Legolas's vision. He couldn't focus his thoughts. He kept seeing Tanvir lying among them, his burns becoming covered with the ash. His eyes focused in and out as he moved from the visions to the real world. A tear trickled down and fell to his horse's back. Arod snorted, breaking the silence momentarily and jerking him back to reality. For that he was grateful.

At long last they arrived at the river's bank. Remaining behind cover, they dismounted, Legolas jumping up into the trees. His two friends lost sight of him instantly as he blended perfectly in with his surroundings. He did not stay still.

Aragorn heard him move off. He and Gimli scouted from the ground, looking out from behind the trunks, which sheltered them from any corsairs' gazes. All three headed in the same general direction. Up the river, searching for where the corsairs' ships were anchored.

Legolas leapt from tree to tree. These ones were still healthy, not having been burned, and his heart sang for them, that they had been spared. He moved out onto a branch while peering through the rain, looking at the river. The water was churning and frothing, the storm causing the river to expand drastically, overflowing its old banks. It was now a wild thing, a strong current coursing through it. Legolas paid it only small heed. He was more concerned about what was floating on top of it. With his elven eyes he had caught sight of something that made his heart leap in fear. Sails moving around a bend in the river. The corsairs were already leaving!

Indeed, the corsairs had finished some half-hour ago and had set sail. Already they were moving, the ships heading for the sea. In only a few hours they would be out of the forest, back to the ocean, forever unreachable. The elven folk would be sold as slaves in the foreign markets, lost to Mirkwood, their friends, and family. Forever.

* * *

hope you enjoyed. I have just discovered that this story isn't as close to the end as I thought it was, so there are still a few more chapters to go. I'll get working on em!!!

silvanelf


	14. The Pursuit

Another chapter finished! I have a quick announcement, AND THIS ONE IS VERY IMPORTANT! I don't know if fanfiction sent out an author alert for my last chapter, (ch. 12 in ch.13 slot) so if you haven't read ch. 12: saddening news, then you should, else this chapter won't make much sense. I apologize for the confusion. 

Also, I am trying to update at least once every week or two, but with everything going on in life, it has become extremely difficult to write. (I wrote this chapter in a bus coming back from Portland.) So I shall endeavor to update as regularly as I can. Just be rest assured that I shall see this story through to the end, and will keep updating whenever I can. I am sorry I can't go faster.

I don't believe there is anything else, except of course, the heartfelt thank-you for all of your kind reviews! So on with the story!

_The Pursuit_

Thranduil looked about him. All around, men elves, and dwarves were organizing themselves, regrouping after being scattered by the retreat. The order to assemble had been given forty-five minutes ago, and now at last the armies seemed almost ready.

Most were going to be on foot, the horses having been injured from the corsairs' dishonorable and cowardly attack. Thranduil sighed; it was going to take more time going on foot, and his elven folk would be slowed down considerably, having to match their pace to the men's. This would eventually take more time, and this was time not permitted to them. They had to reach the corsairs soon, or their people would be forever lost. And this most of all Thranduil could not accept.

Tired of standing by waiting for the others to carry out his orders, he decided to send out runners again. Perhaps they could catch up with Legolas, Aragorn and the dwarf friend Gimli. They would be able to report back the updated situation and save precious minutes.

He called to three of his men. They came quickly and nodded their heads before him, showing their respect. Thranduil gave them his orders and sent them off upon horseback. With the beasts to aid them, they soon disappeared underneath the rain, into the woods. It would take them some thirty minutes to reach the river, and then some minutes more to find the three others.

Looking back across the hills, Thranduil saw that during this side distraction the armies now seemed to have become ready. All that was for lacking was his command. The elven king gave his consent, and in a few seconds all were following the runners' path, marching back into the forest.

* * *

Legolas moved nimbly from branch to branch, casting his eyes downwards, looking for his two companions. He moved as quickly as possible, his heart pounding in his chest, and rising up in his throat. The corsair ships were already sailing away!

He paused for a split second to wipe rainwater soaked hair back from his face. He needed total clarity of vision to find the others under the downpour. Rain obscured his vision badly. Scanning the area again around him, he searched for signs that Aragorn and Gimli had been here. There was nothing. He went perfectly still, still as stone, to be able to hear everything within his range. This time he was rewarded. To his immense relief he could hear the smallest sound of a twig snapping. _Most likely from a clumsy dwarf foot_, the elf thought. A few tree branches over, and one minute later proved him correct. He had come upon his friends.

Without wasting time he leapt down from the branch to land in front of them. Aragorn didn't even blink, having been raised by the elves, he had learned to detect their approach. But Gimli gave a startled shout and steeped back a pace, his hand automatically reaching for his axe before he realized whom it was. Had the times been better, and the situation not so dire, Legolas would have laughed and mercilessly teased the dwarf. But as it were he paid no heed to Gimli's actions.

"What is it?" Aragorn had picked on the fact that something was wrong. Legolas's eyes were wide and one hand was tightening into a fist and then relaxing again, over and over. The elf's whole body language spoke of extreme urgency.

"The corsair ships, they have already finished preparations and have set sail. They move down the river, towards the sea!" The words came out of his mouth laced with an undertone of extreme anger.

Aragorn felt his breath grow short. The armies were too late! He took a glance at his elven friend. Legolas was watching him closely, obviously hoping that the ranger would have some trick up his sleeve that would be able to save this situation. His eyes were narrow, and calculating.

_Perhaps..._ Aragorn thought, _Perhaps I just might. We would only have to delay the ships until the armies arrive_. He thought furiously for a few seconds and then turned quickly to the dwarf.

Gimli was startled by the sudden turn of attention upon him, but managed not to show it to the others. Aragorn was addressing him.

"Gimli, stay here and inform the others when they arrive. It shouldn't be long by now. Legolas and I will ride ahead to prevent the ships from reaching the ocean."

Hearing this Gimli nodded, and Legolas turned and once more blew out a clear, sharp whistle. Their horses responded instantly. Arod trotted smartly up, his white coat gleaming in the rain and what remaining starlight there was. As he ran to where Legolas stood he picked up the urgency in the air and quickened his pace. He closed the distance between them, yet did not slow down. Instead, while he flashed past, Legolas reached out and swung himself up gracefully onto the back in midstride. The pair vanished soon after.  
Aragorn was not far behind. He pulled himself up onto Brego, and with a kick of his heels, he was soon also lost to the dwarf's sight, departing in the same direction as had Legolas. Gimli remained behind, hoping the armies would hurry up and arrive soon.

* * *

Dawn was forthcoming. Thranduil could sense it as he rode through the forest. The darkness seemed to fade somewhat and turn into only shadows, as somewhere behind the mountains of rain clouds the sun began to rise. The wind picked up a little and blew through the remaining leaves of the kingdom. After such a long time without it, the whispering of the leaves was soothing to the elf's soul.

They had been moving through the forest for sometime now, only making quiet rustles as the wind did through the leaves. The graveyard that they had entered demanded it. It insisted a quiet sacredness to show respect where their friends and brothers had died. His horse's footsteps stirred up some of the ash, which was everywhere, covering everything. It fell from the sky like early winter snow, only much, much harsher. Thranduil hated it.

The runners had not yet returned. Thranduil wondered if they might be having difficulty in tracking down Legolas and his friends. He hoped not. He knew of his son's reputation for falling into troublesome events.

He turned his gaze across the armies. The short, stout dwarves were bristling to the teeth with their mighty axes. Taller men and elves walked amongst them, with archers provided between these two races. Energy flowed around all of them, the anticipation of the battle coming through in the body language.

Thranduil's mind lingered on the dwarves. The king was curious how it was that he, who had lived for thousands of years, had missed this good quality to be found in their race? Had he really been this blind?

For the dwarves had acted in a manner befitting a race who claimed many warriors. They had fought with honor, some dying for the elves' forest. An act before today Thranduil would have thought impossible for a dwarf to do, die for trees? And elves? It seemed to be unthinkable. Thranduil sighed, as Legolas had been right about associating with mortals, so it seemed he was also correct in the matter of the worthiness of dwarves. He would have to listen better and more readily to his son. The king promised himself to speak with Gimli once there was finally peace within the forest. Then perhaps there could finally be peace between the two kingdoms.

* * *

The rays of the sun crept over the darkened sky, illuminating for those who dwelt upon the earth a stormy morning. Lighting flashed down in the distance and loud peals of thunder rolled across the plains. The rain pelted down to the ground like a shower of archer's arrows. It seemed that another full day of stormy weather was in store.

Legolas paid this no heed. Under his urging Arod seemed to move faster than then wind itself. Never pausing, the two moved together with a fluid grace. Arod's coat was shining with perspiration and rainwater, his mane and tail streaming out behind him. His head and neck were stretched out, almost so that they were flat, as he fought to gain even more speed. Legolas sat low upon the back, leaning so far forward that it appeared as if he would topple over forward any moment. His hair whipped about his face, which was taunt with rage and worry. His body rolled easily and naturally with Arod's movements, the whole sight of rider and steed a beautiful choreography of sleek motion.

Beside them, and behind only by a step or two rode Aragorn with Brego. The ranger had quickly caught up with Legolas, Brego giving all of his speed to the effort. The horse's hoofs pounded the ground, echoing the distant thunder. Aragorn's hair flew out behind him and tears streamed down his cheeks from the force of the wind in his face. He blinked rapidly, trying to keep his vision clear. Though by the elves he had been raised, he had seldom ridden with his brothers in this fashion, where if one were dismounted unexpectedly, at such gallops, one would most likely snap his neck and die.

The two friends rode side by side, flying across the forest, ever approaching the sea...and the corsair ships.

The black sails had finally come into sight, and with each canter Legolas could see them draw closer. Yet getting nearer was not good enough. If the two friends wanted to be able to do anything to prevent the ships, first they would have to get ahead of them, and this would be no easy task to accomplish. The ships were moving fast, the wind was with them, making their sails full.

The two riders were aware of this. Leaning even lower than before so that a slight misstep would probably send both to their deaths, they pushed their horses to even greater speeds. Pursuing them with all of their heart, they tried to outrace the enemy ships.

* * *

Gimli paced anxiously across a patch of leaves in the forest. He was bored with this inaction that he must endure. He wished to ride with Aragorn and Legolas but knew this to be impossible for three important reasons.

First, someone had to stay behind to give warning to Legolas's father about the corsair ships leaving. Second, Gimli was simply too small and bulky to come along. He would slow his friends down with his extra weight on the horse, and that would cost them all precious time. And third: his friends had already left.

Even though all these reasons were sound, the dwarf still bristled at the thought of himself just standing around while enemies went unchallenged. He couldn't even leave the area he was in to go find the king himself because of the very real possibility that he would become lost. When riding Arod through the woods, he was all right, for it was really the horse who knew where they were going. Without his friends he was confused and stranded. No dwarf belonged in a forest.

He heard hoof beats coming his way and he tensed, his hands gripping his axe handle, ready to pull it out in case of danger. Someone was riding quite swiftly his way.

He wondered if it might be Aragorn and Legolas returning. He hoped not, for that would mean ill happenings. It would mean that they had failed to delay the ships and the cowards who commanded them from escaping with the elves. He glanced all around him, ready for whatever might be coming his direction, be it friend or foe.

Fortunately, it was a friend that burst out between two trees. Or at least, he hoped a friend. An elf, who was so focused on his path that he nearly ran his horse right into Gimli. At the last moment Gimli shouted and the elf turned his horse to the side, the animal neighing loudly to show its protest. The elf calmed his steed and then turned to look down at Gimli. At this point, two other horses came up beside him, each also bearing an elf. All elves had dark hair, reminding Gimli of Tanvir. The thought caused a pang of grief to shoot through him, and he tried to push it aside. Now was not the time to grieve.

The first elf who had come upon him spoke, "I presume that you are Gimli the dwarf, friend of our prince?"

"You are correct Master Elf." Gimli stood as straight as he could, and kept his hands on his axe handle, though he had relaxed slightly. "Are the others close behind?"

The elf seemed puzzled, "Others? You mean the armies?" He raised an eyebrow.

Gimli nodded quickly, "Yes. How soon until they arrive? I have urgent news for your king."

"The armies had not left when we were sent out. We are only three scouts, ordered to find you, our Prince and the Lord Aragorn. What is your urgent news?"

Gimli felt his heart stop, "None of the armies have even left! Why are they waiting?"

The elf to his left spoke up, "They are not waiting, merely, it is taking the men and," here he smiled nastily at Gimli, "dwarves longer to prepare."

Gimli bristled at the implied slight, but before he opened his mouth, the elf who was to his right spoke, "Silence your tongue Fendil. Now is not the time for racial disputes. Let the dwarf speak of this urgent news."

The elf in the middle nodded, and Fendil shook his dark hair, but said nothing. The middle elf turned back to Gimli, "What is this you have to say?"

Gimli took a deep breath, "Legolas had gone on to scout ahead of us, and reported back with word that the corsair ships have already left. They are sailing to the sea, they are already underway."

All three elves blinked, the one to the right spoke, "This is indeed very urgent, word to the King Thranduil must be sent immediately. Where are Prince Legolas and Lord Aragorn? We must leave at once."

"They have already ridden ahead, to try and delay the ships. That is why the armies must hurry, even those two have their limits."

The middle elf, trotted up to him, reached over and held out his hand, "Come on then, you shall ride with us and tell the king this news yourself."

"Very well." Gimli reached out, and grumbling, allowed himself to be assisted onto the back of the elf's stallion. With a quick murmur to their steeds, the three turned and rode back the way they had come. Gimli hoped feverently that the King was already marching, and that they wouldn't have to go all the way back to the shelters. If so, then they would be too late for sure.

* * *

The trees were thinning, the end of the forest approached. And with the end of the forest, came the beginning of the sand dunes and the sea. Legolas could feel it, rousing the longing inside of him that had become present the day he had listened to the gulls' cry.

They had passed the ships. The black sails were behind them now as their steeds galloped over the terrain. Both Arod and Brego were foaming at the mouth and their bodies shinned with perspiration, but they had not failed. The had given their all and it had been enough to move their masters into a position from which they could act.

Legolas rode up onto a high dune, here the sea became visible to his sight and only a few trees separated him from the wide openness of the shores.

He pulled Arod to a stop, letting the horse move in place from side to side to cool down. His eyes were fixed upon the sea. It stole his breath away. Waves crashed against the shore with a fury unmatched by anything Legolas had ever experienced. Ran pelted down, and wind blew sand through the dry, dune grass. The water was dark and foamed more than the horses did. Its majesty was overwhelming. Usually he would feel lost in it, the vastness and beauty would engulf his grip on reality and he would lose his mind to the call of the waters, thinking of nothing else but of his desire to sail west.

But this was not as he felt now. Instead of feeling like he was losing himself, he felt...different. Powerful. As furious as the waves themselves and as deadly. The wind picked up around him and his eyes flashed with anger. He could feel the sea's intoxicating effects move through him, the force behind it building. The strength of the sea poured into him as he gazed across the waters, he had never felt so indestructible. The sea was not calling to him this time, it was encouraging him.

"Legolas?"

The voice jerked him back from the strange paths his keen mind had wandered onto. The elf tore his eyes away and focused his attention on Aragorn. But he could still feel the sea's presence, latching onto him, a whisper in the back of his head that never completely went silent. It begged to leave behind Middle Earth and go west. He pushed it aside as he always did.

Aragorn looked with worried eyes over his friend, the body was stiff, and the eyes cold and hard. Never had Aragorn seen Legolas in such a dangerous or murderous mood before. He did not think the ocean was helping things.

"Are you all right my friend?"

"I am fine." The elf's response was clipped and to the point.

"Then we should prepare to board, the ships will arrive soon."

Legolas gave a tight nod, and the two turned their horses up towards the bank. Here stood a very tall tree, with many over-hanging branches that reached out across the churning river. If they were lucky, one would reach far enough to allow them to jump over. It was risky, but it was the only way they could see to board. Back by this tree, the woods were still slightly thicker; the ships would be close in to the shore, making the issue of jumping distance less pressing.

Legolas climbed quickly up, glancing back at Aragorn every now and then to see how the ranger fared. But the man needed no help and reached his branch as easily as Legolas had reached his own. The leaves covered them from any sentry's gaze; they could stay here until the right moment for action. The two friends were ready for what was coming ahead. Down below them, their horses had trotted off, understanding that they could not be seen. No chances were being taken, if they failed here, all would be lost.

A few branches separated from each other, the two crouched patiently. It was rewarded. Five minutes later, from around the turn in the river, the first ship appeared. With his sharp eyes, Legolas could make out those who walked upon the decks. He snarled. The prince moved forward a bit, his body twitching with suppressed rage.

The corsairs had pulled an elven woman up from below decks and were teasing at her. Some made grabs and advances, causing her to shriek. Legolas's hands curled into tight fists, and his nails dug into his palms so that they bled. He recognized this woman; she lived in his father's household. Legolas had talked to her on many times and had found her to be a sensible young elf maiden. His blood boiled at the sight of the corsairs laughing and spitting at her.

Aragorn could not see what Legolas did on the deck, but he had heard the screaming. Wiping his brow, he inched closer to the edge of the branch. In only a few more seconds the ships would be under them. Legolas kept his eyes upon the corsairs, burning each face into his memory. They would learn what it meant to rouse the anger of an elf.

Closer and closer they came. Legolas could see now how the corsairs were ripping at the maiden's dress, and one, holding her tightly, forced a kiss upon her mouth. The man stepped back and laughed loudly, to the cheers and approval of his comrades. He grinned, and his teeth were yellow and rotten. Tears streamed down the face of their captive. Aragorn by now could also see what was happening. A shocked and angered expression was upon his face.

At last the ship was finally under them. Legolas exploded out of his hiding place; leaping to the edge of the branch, he swung out and jumped, Aragorn right behind him.

* * *

I hope you enjoyed! As I said last time, there are still a few more chapters to go. I'm sorry if these are too short for you.  
silvanelf.


	15. Elven Wrath

Yay! Another update!! I know that it's taking awhile for these to get out, but as I said last chapter, it's going to be between 1-3 weeks for the new chapters. And again, don't worry; I intend to finish this story.

I apologize to those wiser in the Tolkien universe than I am, but this chapter is how I interpret some of the power that is in all of the elves. Also, I hope Glorifindel is spelled correctly. If not, tell me and I'll fix it.

Thank you guys soooooo much for being patient with me, and I must also thank you all for you kind reviews! You're all so nice! Thanks!!

On with the story...

_Elven Wrath_

The wood was grainy underneath his hands, grainy and wet from the water tossed from buckets used to wash down the decks. Splinters of wood scraped against his palms as he began to shift his weight from his landing crouch.

The moment he moved, in an instant, time seemed to freeze. To Legolas everything felt as if it had slowed down dramatically, he could feel a strange pulse in the air around him. There is a power evident and underlying in all nature, and now the elf prince had managed to tune his senses towards it, and to tap into it. He could feel it drawing into him and expanding his own forces.

The feeling was strange and it brought to Legolas an odd sense of vertigo, something he had rarely ever experienced. It was not something he liked. The elf shook his head, trying to clear the feeling and to readjust his senses. He was furious at the corsairs and wanted to take vengeance, which could not be done if he didn't focus.

As he moved his head though, as his vision swept across its destined path, he caught site of the elf maiden. The corsairs had evidentially thrown her to the deck and were preparing to rob her dignity. She was sobbing, lying there pitifully, and trying to protect herself from the clutches of corsair hands. As Legolas stared at her he noticed that she was bleeding from the nose, and that there were many dark bruises forming around her mouth and on her face.

Legolas felt a dark rage flow through him, and something inside of him snapped.

Time suddenly sped up. The world now was rushing by his being, swirling around him in thousands of snapshots, blurred with speed. He felt that he stood in the only place where the laws of physics had not been thrown out the windows. What was wrong with him?

Everything flashed by. Aragorn standing up from his crouched position, drawing his sword in preparation for the coming battle. The corsairs finally starting to realize that they were somehow under attack, leaving the elven maiden, and staring in disbelief at the two who had challenged them. Legolas could see them, moving to make a defense, laughing, not realizing how much danger their lives were in.  
As the laughter hit his ears, Legolas felt his breath robbed of him. The split second before it happened, he realized what was happening. He let go of any resistance he had been building, and let the power flow through his tensed form.

Instantly his body stiffened, and his hands went out, fingers spread wide as a blinding whiteness filled his vision. A sudden rush of noise and wind came whistling out of nowhere. Everything to his eyes finally appeared to be moving normally, but all was seen through this whiteness, bright as any sun. He saw now that the corsairs were no longer laughing, but appropriately panicking, many had fallen dead. Parts of the ship were being ripped away into nothing but splinters, and off to his right he perceived the mast snapping. With a series of sharp resounding cracks, it swayed, and then under the force of the wind it was pushed over, falling to crash through the ship's side. The impact rocked the entire vessel, sending river water to crash up onto the ruined deck.

Legolas concentrated. Only once before in his life had he done this, and then it had not lasted quickly. But now, here, he felt much more force. If he concentrated, he could fine tune it and let it feed off his rage, making it truly devastating. He reached inside himself and poured all of his anger, and grief, all of his power, amplified tenfold by the sea, the power of the race of the eldar, all this he let flow from himself into the whiteness, into his wrath. And then, closing his eyes, he released it.

* * *

Aragorn sped to the end of the branch, and grapping the edge of it, used it to propel himself across the water and onto the corsair ship. Legolas was one step ahead of him, and the two friends landed together upon the deck, barely just making it on board.

As Aragorn stood, he caught site of Legolas shaking his head, as if some pain bothered the elf, but Aragorn couldn't understand what that might be. As he rose, drawing his sword, Legolas also rose, seemingly to have recovered from whatever it was that had been bothering him. Aragorn turned to the enemy, but still sensed that something was not right. Risking a quick glance at his friend, he felt his jaw drop in shock.

Legolas's eyes had gone a pure white, blazing forth with a power that spoke of ancient days, and Aragorn knew now what troubled his friend. He also knew he had precious few seconds before all hell and brimstone was let lose. He dove aside, and began to put distance between himself and the elf prince.

The corsairs started laughing, thinking him to run in defeat before the battle had even started. Aragorn paid them no heed, he was no fool. Being raised in Rivendell meant that as a youth he had had to study from the ancient books of lore that Elrond kept in his library, and from these books Aragorn knew what an elf revealed in his wrath was capable off. Had not Glorifindel challenged the black riders thus?

He had only gone a few quick steps before he felt it. A wave through the air, with such power behind it that he was knocked from his feet, and sent flying. He landed hard on the deck, and knowing what was to follow, shut his eyes tightly. He curled up protectively, and ignored the new bruise forming from his rough landing.

A strong wind hurled around in the air, whipping his clothing and hair about, the latter stinging his face under the force. The whiteness was so intense that even though his eyes remained shut, light still burned its way through. His entire body felt penetrated by the power.  
A splinter of wood unseen by him raced through the air and cut into his flesh just above his wrist. His mouth tightened at the unexpected pain, but it was no serious injury. He did not think the corsairs were faring as well. He could hear their screaming, and dimly realized as a huge impact rocked the ship, that the mast must have been snapped completely.

As another wave pulsed across the deck though, he realized that this was only just the beginning. The wind was now screaming in his ears, he couldn't tell the difference between it and the corsairs. A horrible noise of panic reared up around him, but he didn't move. He remained absolutely still, and kept his eyes shut tight. He did not wish to be blinded by this experience. He heard more cracking and crashing sounds and assumed that more of the ship had been torn apart by the destructiveness of Legolas's wrath. He found himself yelling with all his breath, adding to the noise and confusion.

* * *

Legolas took a step forward as the corsairs who had not yet died panicked about him. As he moved the entire ship groaned. Corsairs trying to flee over the sides of the ships were met only with death as splinters of wood buried themselves into their dark hearts. In only a few minutes since the two had jumped from the tree, the entire ship was thrown into pandemonium and chaos, which at the center of it, Legolas stood, creating and directing all of it with his wrath, oblivious to anything else except releasing his rage.

* * *

Gimli was once again clutching tightly the waist of an elf. But this time it wasn't any elf, but rather, the King himself. He rode high upon Thranduil's steed, and was very conscious of the compliment this paid him, even if it did mean he had to ride.

He and the elven riders had rejoined with the main armies quite quickly, the horses' hooves flying around tree roots, taking them across the surest ground. The King had sensed their coming and was ready for them by the time they drew near. The three elven scouts had vanished back into the ranks, without giving Gimli a chance to thank them for their assistance, and also without a chance to repay Fendil for his slight upon the dwarves. Who's kin had saved whom here?

After hearing what Gimli had to say, the dwarf once more delivering the news of the corsair's departure, Thranduil had reacted with a calmness that had been surprising to Gimli. The king split his forces, biding that half of them should continue on to where the ships would be if Aragorn and Legolas were successful. The other half was to remain behind at the riverbanks and cut off any attempts of cowardly retreats made by the enemies down the river.

Gimli also, was to come and ride with him, as now all who came would be mounted. Many dwarves besides their leader were also borrowing seats on the horses of their elven compatriots.

Gimli tried to track where they were riding through in the forest, but soon discovered that this was an impossible task. The forest was home to an elf maybe, but to the dwarf, each tree was the same as the next, the only difference to his eyes was that some were dead, burnt away, and some had managed to survive the inferno. Gimli found himself growing impatient as the ride seemed to stretch indefinitely, but they could not move any faster. The king had already set a grueling pace for their steeds; it would extremely rude of him to complain. All he could do was clutch at the Thranduil's waist in hopes of not falling off, and hope that Aragorn and Legolas had achieved what they had set out to do. But even as he fretted, they drew nearer and nearer to where it seemed the final battle would take place.

* * *

Vulim was standing up high in the rigging that stretched from the deck to their tallest mast. Their ship, the mightiest of the fleet, which was comprised of three, had three masts stemming upward from the deck. Each was solid and mighty, this ship being Sanul's own.  
But now it seemed that their captain was dead, something that Vulim could hardly believe. He had not known the captain well, nor had wished to know him, but he knew that it would take a great enemy to bring Sanul down. The captain had been extremely dangerous and powerful. It would be hard to find a replacement for their ships.

Vulim had been one of the few to remain behind and guard their slaves during the raid, something for which he gave many thanks, as no one but Ginsher had survived. The corsair lookout wanted nothing more to do with this forest.

Their ship now approached a bend in the river, and slowly, began the process of navigating it. It was difficult, as the bend was sharp, but there still remained to them, luckily, an experienced hand at the rudder.

As they came around the bend, in the shadowed light of the dawn, Vulim suddenly took note, and straightened in his perch. Ahead, blazing, was an intense light, casting everything all around it into silhouettes. It seemed to be coming from their lead ship, but they were too far away to tell. Floating on the air was dimmed yelling and shouting, but the corsair couldn't make out why this was so. And as they moved closer, before Vulim could get a better view, the radiating whiteness went out, vanishing as if it never were.

The corsair was filled with a cowardly panic. What had that been? And why was it now gone so suddenly? And why the yelling and screaming? He shimmied down the rigging as fast as he could, filled with a sense of foreboding and ran to report to the acting captain as their ship sailed on under his feet.

* * *

There was only silence. Where before the ship had been filled with the noise destruction brings, now, in the aftermath, it was filled only with silence. The ship creaked and groaned, the boat listing slightly to one side.

Curled tightly, protecting his face and neck with his arms, Aragorn was pressed tight against a side of the ship. It was one of the only spots left undamaged. Slowly, as the situation remained unchanging, Aragorn began to straighten out, bringing his arms down and opening his eyes. After blinking a few times to readjust them he gazed round to see what he had only been able to experience through his ears. And blinked again.

Utter destruction met his gaze. Both masts had fallen, one split clean at the bottom, the other cracked vertically and then ripped apart by the powerful forces that had been at work. Most of the deck was gone, making the wood underneath that still was intact very perilous and unsteady. And the upper deck, the upper deck was entirely gone, leaving only jagged holes, and shredded planks behind. Aragorn stared about him; he had curled up in one of the only untouched places aboard. All around, corsairs lay scattered, their blood dripping from their lifeless bodies down below to the lower cabins. Not one seemed to have survived.

Shakily, the king rose to his feet. Checking himself he deemed that he had suffered only small scratches and bruises, thankfully nothing serious. The wood beneath him held firm, and cautiously he stepped about, testing each beam before completely placing his weight upon it. He glanced around. All was still deadly quiet.

It was behind the stump of the main mast that Aragorn found him. Legolas had slumped down against the wood, his body turned towards the sea. The elf's eyes were closed, and his breath came ragged and harsh. His hair was moving slightly in the wind, drifting across his face.

Aragorn knelt beside him, and touched his hand to his shoulder, "Legolas?" He gave a small shake, "My friend, come now, the corsairs are dead. It is over."

Instantly the elf stirred beneath. His eyes fluttered, then opened. He lay completely still for a moment, staring ahead, and then, gasping, sat up quickly. A hand went up to clutch his head, and for a moment he doubled over in pain. Aragorn sat beside him, giving support.

"Estel?" Legolas breathed the name out faintly, still trying to catch his breath. The power he had unleashed had drained from his body much of his energy; it had been no simple task to create such destruction.

"I am here."

Then at the same time, both asked, "Are you all right?" "How fare you?"

Legolas sat up, the pain subsiding, and grinned as Aragorn gave a small chuckle. The ranger pulled the prince to his feet, and for the first time, Legolas saw clearly what he had done. His eyes widened. "I am responsible? I had not...I mean, the elves' power...and the masts..." he turned around to gaze at where the tall masts had once stood, "...only once before have I ever done this, but it wasn't the same...wasn't as...as powerful I suppose. Nor as channeled. It is a strange experience."

Aragorn nodded, his face grim as he stared about the destruction, "But the wrath has served its purpose. The corsairs are dead, and the ship is ours, at least, until it falls apart. I do not believe it is fit for much more than firewood now. You have reduced it to a splintered skeleton."

Legolas flexed his hands, gazing about as well, "The rage I felt. It is gone." After a pause to reflect he amended, "No, not gone. It is still there, these pirate scum still evoke it in me, but somehow, it is...more controllable. It will not overwhelm me again."

"And that, my friend, is comforting. I was lucky to have escaped your wrath."

"Yes," Legolas's glanced sideways at Aragorn, "For that I am greatly thankful. For looking back I can see that I was not in my right state of mind. Had you opened your eyes and gazed upon me I probably would have killed you as well." The elf started, "What about the maiden? Have you seen her?"

Aragorn shook his head, "But she couldn't not have gone anywhere. She must be around somewhere here, or down below. We will find her."

"And then release the other captives. Those who can still fight will provide much help against the other ships coming."

"Yes, we must prepare for that. We cannot waste any more time standing here. Let us go and find your folk."

The two friends moved about on the deck, testing each plank to see how well it would hold them. Legolas eventually wandered over to the staircase leading down below, "I have found the way down and am taking it Aragorn," he called over to where the ranger was crouching, removing debris from the maiden. He had just spotted her. The elf continued, "I can hear the captured, they will not be hard to find."

"Right, let them free. I will tend to her."

The elf disappeared from Aragorn's sight, and he turned his attention to the maiden. The last of the debris was cleared away and she sat up cautiously, looking dazed.

"My name is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. Are you all right?"

She gazed at him, her eyes a deep green, "Yes...yes I am fine now that the _corsairs_," she spat the word out of her mouth, "are dead. I am grateful for your intervention. My name is Maril."

Aragorn nodded and helped pull her up to her feet, "Usually I carry some herbs with me, but I am afraid that I shall have to wait to tend your bruises."

"I don't mind." She paused for a moment, looking about her, "So, what are we going to do now? I take it your elf friend went below?"

"And has come back up. Aragorn, meet Fen-Galid, he has become the leader of the captured, and so speaks for them." Legolas had come up behind the two, bringing with him another tall, brown haired elf, who nodded his head in greeting. Behind them, others were coming out onto the deck, receiving their first breath of fresh air they'd had for days.

Aragorn returned the nod, "I take it then that you had no difficulties in freeing your people?"

Legolas shook his head, "It was no trouble. The keys had dropped to the floor right next to the locked doorway. It was only a matter of finding the correct one."

"And how many can we count on to aid us?"

Fen-Galid spoke, "All would aid you and our prince, but many are incapable due to injury. Those that come up on deck are those who can fight."

Aragorn gave the other elves a second glance over, "I see. Well, we are much strengthened by them, their help will prove key when the other corsairs attack."

Maril spoke, the three men turning to face her, "Which shan't be long. The second ship appears up the river. You see? Soon it will be upon us."

The men hurried over to the railing where she stood and gazed out up the river. Sure enough, the form of the mighty ship could be seen, barreling towards them. Surprisingly, Legolas grinned.

"I do not see what is so funny my friend." Aragorn gave the elf a puzzled glance.

"Look how fast they are moving. They are going to do half the damage for us, for they will never be able to stop in time." Silence between the four fell as the meaning of Legolas's words sank in.

Indeed, it soon became apparent to all on the deck that the corsairs were trying desperately to stop, turn, or slow their ship down in some way. Men were scurrying about on the decks, and shouts carried across the distance to reach the elven ears. But there was no stopping it.

"Come on," Aragorn said, "If they manage to turn their ship, they will be able to just barely sail past us. Not so if we turn ourselves." The man hurried to where the wheel, mostly undamaged, stood, and began to spin it round. Slowly and deliberately their ship began to turn. As Legolas had said, now a collision was inevitable.

* * *

Vulim stared in horror as the ship ahead of them turned diagonally in the water. There was no way to make it past them now and escape to the sea. They were going to collide! Closer and closer, the remaining space began to shorten. Across the deck the corsairs had given up trying to stop, and shout ran across, "Brace yourself!"

Vulim tightened his grip on the rigging, so tight his knuckles turned pale, cut off from the blood. There were only a few more seconds left. Vulim couldn't stand it. He turned his face away; he knew the mast was going to fall. His last thought was that he hoped it would crush someone when it did.

* * *

"Brace yourselves! Hold fast to something!" Aragorn and Legolas moved carefully, and hurriedly across the deck. In front of them, the scene of the approaching corsair ship filled their vision. It was moving fast with the current and wind.

"Here it comes!" Legolas shouted. Everyone grabbed onto something.

At that moment, the ships collided.

The second ship rammed straight into the side of the first, ripping through the already weakened planks, sending up showers of deadly splinters. The initial impact was huge, sending everyone on both ships tumbling and flying. The two ships rocked, and waves coursed underneath. With a mighty groan, the tallest mast on the second ship snapped and fell across the two ship's decks. It crashed through the railings, ruining the decks on both ships. Water seemed to be spraying up everywhere, mixing in with wooden shards and splinters.  
Legolas, who had managed to clutch a rope in his hands to steady himself, looked around just in time to see Aragorn, who was by the railing, lose his balance from the mast's impact. The elf watched with horror as the man, his eyes widened with surprise, was flung off the ship, the railing he had been using for support having been smashed off, leaving nothing for Aragorn to reach out and grab hold to as he fell into the water below. In a second he had vanished.

"_Aragorn!_" Legolas leapt up and sprinted across the deck. He reached the edge where the rail had been and, without thinking, dove in after his friend, desperate to save him.

Fen-Galid stared round himself in shock, the two men who had known the most about what was going on had just been lost. Which meant that he must now direct the elves in battle. He prepared himself and the others to fight. The water spray was everywhere; one of the ships was surely starting to sink. The collision had done incredible damage.

The corsairs reared up on their ship, swords and weapons gleaming. Evil eyes gleamed from behind scraggily hair. The elves also sprang to their feet, some were unarmed, but most had reclaimed their weapons from the armory. With cries echoing up and down the river, they sprang at each other, jumping over onto each other's decks. The weapons flashed and very quickly blood was spilt out upon the decks, both corsair and elven. The two sides clashed hard, an intense fighting taking place.

It was at this point that Thranduil and his men arrived on the riverbanks, their horses gleaming with foam and sweat from the pace, but the riders quite ready for battle nonetheless. Arrows shone out in the early-morning light and axes bristled from the dwarves. So it was that the final engagement began.

* * *

all right, that's it, another cliffhanger for you MelanyeBaggins :) anywho, this is how I see an elf's wrath, I have always pictured it as this huge destructive force, with incredible power behind it, fueled by the elf's emotions. I hope I conveyed that.

R/R please!!


	16. The Last Battle

whew, another chapter!!

Jamie M: blushes and grins embarrassedly, whoops, spotted a hole there huh? You're right, I kind of forgot about that (I guess) as I typed it. For the sake of the story, let us pretend that his body has not rejected the stitches inside. Maybe when this story is finished I'll head back and try to fix it so it works out with the rest of the plot line. I can't believe I overlooked that! (I'll go with you and put my trust in Aragorn's healing skills.)

Ah MelanyeBaggins, you're review was very reassuring as I was extremely nervous about how readers would react to my idea of the wrath. Thank-you:)

Of course, I must say thank-you to all my reviewers!!! (as I have every other chapter, but I would feel horrible if I didn't thank you all every time. You inspire me to write, (whoa, that was cheesy, forget I said that...)

So here I present to you, the next chapter, finally written and typed and updated! Huzzah!

_The Last Battle_

There wasn't even any time for a thought before Aragorn's body hit the surface of the water. For a sickening instant his stomach had risen into his throat as he fell, but then the shock of the impact with the water, and the iciness that stole his breath also stole any other perceptions he might have had. The water hit him hard, he landed on his side, losing his breath as pain exploded throughout his just-starting-to- heal ribs. His body instantly disappeared under the waves.

The current also immediately picked him up. What with the storm the past days, and the ships' movement, the river had swelled, overflowing its banks and growing dangerous. The current had changed from easy-going to a strong, gripping flow, moving debris and wood shrapnel from the ships along swiftly. It easily pulled the dazed man under and Aragorn found himself completely disoriented.  
Everything around him was a dark and swirling jumble. He tried to swim to the surface, but had no idea which way the surface was. Confused, and desperate for air he opened his mouth. A mistake, as water flowed straight to his lungs and precious air bubbles escaped him. A moment later he slammed into something hard, and his ribs screamed in protest as even more pain laced its way through them. Though Aragorn did not realize it, the current had slammed him into the side of the corsair ship.

Aragorn's mind screamed for air, but it was impossible for him to get his bearings. He struggled to swim against the current and reach the surface, but the icy water had numbed his limbs, and each movement took agonizing effort, which sapped his strength. After only a few strokes the dark water became even darker as his vision faded, and the current pulled him down.

* * *

Legolas tucked his face down, tensing his muscles as he dove. Instead of hitting hard and stunning himself as Aragorn had, the elf plunged gracefully through the surface waves, retaining his bearings. The current instantly pulled at him, but instead of fighting it, he allowed it to carry him downriver, giving him greater speed, pushing him towards his friend.

Even with his elven eyes he could not see much except swirling, murky water. He surfaced quickly, gasping for air, his eyes scanning the surface for any sign of Aragorn. There was none. He re-submerged after drawing breath, and swam hard and fast, casting his arms about in hopes of touching the ranger.

Looking ahead he saw the water grow even darker and realized he was only seconds from doing what Aragorn had only seconds before him done, crash into the ship's side. It loomed closer, and though his lungs were burning, Legolas swam deeper, releasing air through his mouth in order to get below the wooden planks. For a terrible minute he though he might become trapped underneath, to drown. But he passed under it, and as soon as he did, he shot to the surface again, opening his mouth to gasp greedily at the air. A wave slapped him in the face and he chocked for a second.

Stealthily, a chill entered his heart as the hand of panic closed about it. If he was having trouble breathing, Aragorn would be in much worse shape. Already minutes had passed; Aragorn should have reached the surface by now. But Legolas could not see him. Aragorn was drowning! He had to find him; he was drowning, breathing water into his lungs! Legolas's breath started to catch as his heart thudded. He cast his gaze about randomly and desperately, thrashing the water around him. Realizing his state of mind, he forced himself to calm down, but only with great difficulty. His heart cried for him to do something more, to find his friend _now_, but the prince could not see Aragorn anywhere.

Rain pattered his face as he treaded water, hating that he had to waste these precious seconds. Waves splashed over him, but he knew that he would be of no help to anyone if he didn't regain control and calm himself. When he felt that he was as calm as he could get under the circumstances he drew a breath, and dove under.

Moving swiftly, he scanned about. Something soft brushed against him and he grabbed onto it, hoping for the best. Drawing it closer he saw that he had snagged hold of a body, a long dead corsair whose fists were clenched tight. Blood seeped from it and it had become bloated. Revulsion and horror contracted in the elf's chest and he shoved it away from him, feeling the panic return.

Suddenly, out of the shadows a rock loomed, slamming into his shoulder. Legolas gasped in surprise and precious air was lost, not to mention his shoulder throbbed. Before he could do much, another rock, this one large enough to stick out into the surface, appeared through the water to his right. He kicked away and barely missed slamming into it.

Reaching out as the current pulled him past, he grabbed hold onto the stone. Two of his fingernails peeled back, and he opened his mouth to scream at the unexpected shock. Choking, he surfaced quickly, bursting up with a shout of pain. He found that he was facing a sheer wall of rock. Blood dripping from his hands, he scrabbled at the stone for a few seconds, using it to anchor himself as he looked ahead to see where other rocks were, and then fell back down.

He swam to one side, putting the next boulder to his left. Searching about, he saw something trapped underneath it, giving off a ripple. Peering through the water he thought he saw a piece of cloth being whipped about in the current.

Hope flashed through his thoughts, and he swam over. Maneuvering around the corner of the stone he finally found his friend, trapped against the rock side. Somehow the current had pushed the man there, and the force of the backlash was keeping him from floating to the surface. Legolas grabbed Aragorn tightly by one of his arms, and putting his feet against the rock, shoved hard to the surface. The ranger was dead weight in his grip, and Legolas felt them falling short of their goal. Struggling and kicking, the elf strove to make his way above the water with his burden.

A jet of spray exploded along with them as the broke the surface. Legolas flew upward, gasping and sputtering. Aragorn sagged in his grasp, the elf couldn't tell if his was breathing or not. A wave crashed over them, causing them both to go under again, but Legolas quickly re-surfaced with his friend. Trying desperately to keep Aragorn's face above water, Legolas looked about for a way out of this predicament. The river's current still dragged along at them, and the elf found it increasingly difficult to stay afloat with Aragorn's body. The strength of the current challenged his own.

They had passed the remaining rocks. Dimly Legolas realized that he would have to swim to the shore if either of them wished to survive this. And if he did not hurry the current would drag them both all the way out to sea. There would be nothing out there to support them and eventually they would both drown, for Legolas would not abandon his friend.

Taking a breath he began to struggle to pull himself to the side and out of the current. He kicked hard, dragging Aragorn behind him. Water crashed over his head and blurred his vision; he coughed, his lungs were burning. He could imagine what shape Aragorn was in, and offered up a prayer to the Valar for his friend's life.

After an eternity he looked up. It seemed to him that maybe the shore was somewhat closer than before. Renewed with this hope he kicked out again, stronger then ever. Now he could really feel himself moving. Swimming and breathing hard he finally felt his feet brush against the riverbed and current ebb off. Almost sobbing with relief he shifted his grip on Aragorn and hauled him through the muddy shallows to the shore.

Stumbling from the stream, he laid Aragorn down, and then nearly collapsed himself. His legs felt shaky, and his chest heaved with each breath. Instead though, he knelt next to the ranger and began to examine him.

Aragorn's lips were blue. With a shock Legolas realized that the water had to have been much more cold than he had perceived. However, what worried him more was that Aragorn was not breathing, and that there was no pulse.

Again Legolas felt panic creep up on him. What if he couldn't get Aragorn breathing again? What would he say to Gimli...or Arwen? All he could see in his mind's eye was Tanvir's body, and how Aragorn's would soon be stretched out next to it. This picture filled him with grief and a fiery desperation to prevent it.

He began to rub the chest and then pushed up from the stomach area. He repeated this a few times, and then turned Aragorn so that he could hit the back. His blows were hard; they left his hand stinging after each one was landed. Then he pushed upwards from the front again. Every few seconds he stopped to check the pulse, but still there was nothing.

Seconds ticked away as Legolas fought to bring the water up and to get air to his friend. But as each second passed nothing seemed to change, and Aragorn's life was slipping through his fingers. He had already lost one brother; he would not lose another so soon. He would not let Aragorn die. But as he bent over the body, his wet hair dripping onto the still face, Legolas felt all hope leave him.

* * *

Gimli was tired of waiting. For now, the elves were the only one to participate in the battle, jumping over from tall trees, or shooting deadly arrows from the shore. But the dwarfs couldn't climb up high enough, and even if they could somehow have managed it, there was no way for them to jump over without someone else to toss them. This was an action strictly forbidden by their loud protests.

But neither would Gimli shirk from battle. After eyeing the river carefully, he jumped in and with the kind of strength only a dwarf can muster, swam up to the side of the ship. An elf looking down spotted him scrambling for a hold and tossed him a rope. Soon many ropes lined the side as Dwarfs climbed up, the icy water nothing to them in the face of glory in battle.

Gimli flopped over the side and landed hard on the deck. He blinked when he saw all the destruction that had taken place. The ship seemed ripped to shreds almost, looking like it would collapse any second. His sixth sense told him that something important had happened here. He brushed the feeling off, now was not the time, and with a grunt, he stood and drew his axe.

Running as fast as he could, he closed the distance between and a corsair. He swung his axe upward, feeling the metal head rip through between two ribs, spilling the man's guts onto the deck. Blood splattered against him, but he ignored this, having seen far worse. The corsair stood for a moment, blood clotting and dripping down from the corners of his mouth. Then he fell to the deck. Gimli was confident that he would not draw more then a few breaths more before death claimed him.

With a roar he charged into the fray, fighting alongside his fellow dwarves and elven comrades. Blades whirled, turning back the charge of corsairs leaping over from their ship. Arrows hissed through the air, finding their marks in the necks and eyes of corsairs. Blood stained the deck, steaming and foamy from the commotion. The river water around them had changed from a muddy grey to a muddy red, and bodies floated upon the surface.

Gimli swung his axe around, relishing the feeling of it connecting with the enemy. Anger on behalf of Legolas built up inside of him, and gladly he released it by wielding even deadlier strokes.

At the thought of his friend, Gimli took a moment to glance about across the deck. After scanning all around he was shocked to find that not only could he not see the elf, but the blasted ranger was missing as well. Worry coursed through his veins, but he pushed it aside. Surely they were only fighting on the other ship?

He was heading to confirm this thought, when his peripheral vision caught sight of a man moving to go below decks. A dirty corsair, a blade in his hand, and one clutched in between his teeth. He meant to attack those unable to fight! For a second his friends were gone from his mind, though he wished to see to them first, such cowardness could not go unnoticed. He sprang after the man heading beneath.

Looking up the corsair saw what was headed his way. He moved faster, looking for a place to hide. He wished desperately to live out the day, and his hands fumbled with his knife in fear. He cut himself on his thumb, blood flowing out. Finally he crouched under the stairwell; he would be ready when the dwarf arrived.

* * *

Fen-Galid had also seen the corsair disappear below. Making to head over himself, he checked his actions when he saw a burley dwarf climb down in pursuit. The axe-wielder had seemed eager almost, to teach the man a lesson. The elf left it to him, confident that the corsair would be no match for the ferocity shown on the dwarf's face. And it wasn't until after the battle that he gave them another thought.

* * *

His hands were numb. Still, he kept at it, pushing up from the lower chest, hitting the back as hard as he could. He rubbed both sides, trying to stimulate the circulation. Finally he took both of his hands and pushed down hard, Aragorn lying on his back.

Aragorn seemed to cough.

His vision was blurred, sweat trickled down his brow. He hardly dared to hope as he pushed down again.

This time Aragorn's body jerked underneath him, and then doubled over. Vomit and water began to come up between the man's lips, and Legolas quickly turned him onto his side. The ranger's body pushed the water out of his lungs; Aragorn threw it all up onto the ground and then drew a shaky breath to Legolas's immense relief. Now the tears did come. The elf released all the tension in him through the tears, letting them course down his cheeks as he patted his friend's back, trying to sooth some of the harsh, coughing breaths. The man had still not regained consciousness.

Legolas checked the pulse. It was still somewhat weak. With a mental sigh, Legolas knew that he would have to move them both away from the river's edge, to someplace dry. Gathering himself, he stood, flexing his stiff muscles. His hands were throbbing and stinging as blood flowed back into them.

He bent down and lifted Aragorn up. Then turning and walking carefully, slowly he made his way further and further from the raging waters. He noticed suddenly with a shock that blood covered the clothes of his friend, but as feeling returned to his hands, his fingers reminded him of their status. He noticed blood dripped down from them onto his boots. They burned and stung dreadfully. His legs began to cramp, and his arms soon followed suit, making it hard for him to draw steady breaths. He gritted his teeth against the pain, and continued his trudge away from the river.

He walked, falling into a doze, or perhaps even a light unconsciousness, though his eyes remained opened. In his arms Aragorn's breath still came harsh, but seemed to gain strength. His lips were returning to a more healthy shade then the bluish-black they had been.  
When Legolas came to himself he saw that they had moved much farther into the woods. The elf struggled to continue, but exhaustion tugged at him. Finally he decided that he could go no further. Looking around, he found a dry spot between some tree roots and laid Aragorn along between them.

Crouching down next to him he checked the pulse again. It seemed to him to be a bit stronger. Certainly the ranger wasn't near death. Pulling off his cloak, Legolas draped it over his friend to keep him warm. It was the freezing water his friend had been subjected to that now worried the elf. He himself was fine, his body not feeling the extreme of temperatures. But Aragorn had been trapped underwater for who knows how long, subject to the icy depths. Even now he seemed to shiver slightly.

Legolas took ten more minutes to rub the skin and chest, and yet again checked the pulse. Again he perceived improvement. He considered lighting a fire, but even if he found dry wood he did not think he could bring himself to try to burn it after all that had happened. Instead, Legolas leaned back, resting his head against he trunk of the tree. Letting his thoughts flow, he soon lost himself in the whispering of the leaves overhead. It still rained, but the tree stretched out its branches so that many came to rest over the elf and the man, thus much of the rain was blocked.

Legolas's body relaxed and his eyes slipped shut from fatigue. His breaths became even and deep as he slipped away from the world, losing himself to the blackness that utter exhaustion brings. He and Aragorn laid secure in the roots, the tree watching over them and the rain falling.

* * *

Gimli reached the stairs. He tromped down them as quickly as he could, ready for battle. A moment before it would have been too late, he caught sight of something that made him freeze in his tracks. A spot of blood was on the deck to the side of the stairs, and this led him to see that a shadow was moving.

With a cry of rage he vaulted over the side, crashing onto the floor. The corsair hiding beneath him gave a strangled cry of fear, but then recovered himself, bringing his knife up. Gimli rose to his feet, anger burning in his eyes. The corsair slashed out once or twice, that is, until Gimli swiped his knife away with a single sweep of his axe.

The man turned and fled down the narrow hall of the ship. As Gimli made to follow he realized with a shock that water was flowing upwards, that a couple of inches were already available to splash through. He growled and moved faster.

But not quite fast enough. Coming around a corner he stopped fast at the scene of the corsair pressing his remaining knife against the throat of an elven child. A young boy, whose eyes were wide with shock. As Gimli took a step forward the knife pressed in, a spot of red welling up under the blade. A cry escaping from the mouth. Gimli stopped short, and the corsair grinned, smirking at him, daring him to come closer.

* * *

as always, I hope you enjoyed! And again, I sooooooooooo appreciate everyone's patience! Thank-you! 


	17. A Red Sun Sets

Here it is, the last chapter! Wow, I can't believe that my story is over! (whew, I survived, and now summer is here!) There is going to be an epilogue to this story coming up right after this chapter, I'll have it posted by tomorrow (Saturday) morning at the latest.

I am really glad that everyone has enjoyed my writing so much, Thank-You all who have reviewed me! I love all my reviewers: )

Also, on a note, I plan to write more fics, but because of a bet with my friend, the next fic won't be LOTR. (she said I couldn't go 40 days without it. I'll show her!!!) I think it will probably be Harry Potter, a story focusing on Remus Lupin. So I invite you all to check it out if you wish. (once I get it posted that is.)

Again, Thanks to everyone! I really hope that this last chapter delivers!

_A Red Sun Sets_

The ship rocked from side to side, water sloshed around on the floor, pouring over Gimli's feet. He could feel how cold it was even through the thick leather of his boots. He held his axe in his hand, but only had it half-raised, not wishing to spook the corsair into jerking the knife.

For once the dwarf wasn't sure of what to do in a battle. At situations like these, where delicacy was required, he usually leaned back upon Aragorn to get them through. The man had a gift with persuasion. But now it was only himself.

The elven boy was staring at him, eyes opened wide. He had probably been curious by the sounds of battle and had ventured away from the others to see what was happening. He had most likely crashed headfirst into the fleeing enemy. _Typical of a corsair_, Gimli thought, _to find the coward's way out_.

The corsair sneered at him, "Set your weapon down dwarf."

"Let the boy go first."

"I'll give you three seconds and then..." He trailed off, pressing the blade tip until a dot of blood swelled red underneath it.

His eyes burning with anger, Gimli lowered his axe. The water completely covered it. The corsair grinned.

"Now step aside."

Gimli glared at him, but moved over. The man walked forward to where the axe was and kicked it behind him. Gimli heard it slide, stopping to his right. He tensed.

As the corsair made to go past him, Gimli's eyes met with those of the boy. Though they were still wide, most of the shock had left them. They were eyes full of resoluteness, and with a flash of understanding Gimli knew what was going to happen.

The elvish child lifted his foot as if taking another step, and then with all of his races' speed, brought it crashing down upon the corsair's foot. It was as quick as lighting. At the same time, Gimli dove towards his right, reaching desperately for his axe.

The corsair howled with pain and surprise. Grabbing at his foot with one hand, he lost his balance, and jerked his other arm outwards to keep it. Gimli picked up his axe, turning just in time to see a spray of blood, and to hear the boy cry out.

* * *

Sharp jagged pains kept breaking through the darkness. It felt as if someone were taking long needles and repeatedly sinking them into his side. Every breath brought the pain closer and pushed the comforting blackness farther out of reach.

With a weak groan and much effort Aragorn opened his eyes. Blearily he gazed about, trying to remember exactly what had happened. His brain felt slow and stupid, and his body extremely stiff and sore. With each breath his ribs seemed to grate against his insides, making it hard for him to concentrate upon anything.

He realized belatedly that something was covering him, a cloak. Turning his head, he soon discovered its source. Legolas lay not two paces off; the elf's eyes were shut and his breathing even.

Though he had no idea how it was that Legolas was with him, Aragorn gave it no second thought. Immense thankfulness flooded through him. He opened his mouth, intending to rouse the elf by means of a call, but found he could hardly manage a whisper. His mouth and throat felt as dry as the desert, as if the insides were coated with ashes. He coughed, but all that produced was a painful burn in his lungs, in addition to the needle pains in his side. Dimly he wondered what exactly had happened to him.

"Legolas." This time his voice came out as a half croak. But it seemed to be enough. The elf's eyes fluttered, then flew open, coming to meet the ranger's. He sprang up from his position and moved to Aragorn's side.

"Are you alright? How long have you been awake? Can you remember what happened to you? Can you understand--"

Aragorn held up a hand, cutting short Legolas's flow of worried questions. He coughed again and wished he hadn't, but Legolas understood.

The elf rose, "I shall try to find you some water."

Aragorn nodded to show his thanks, and sank back against the tree again. Legolas moved off, but he only half noticed this. The world swam before him, fading in and out before his vision, but sharpening with each intake of breath, which sent his ribs grating him.

Something cold trickled down his the back of his throat, and with a start he realized that Legolas had returned, and that he had not noticed until the elf had assisted him to drink. How long had it been? He couldn't tell and this dismayed and frightened him. He was in horrible shape.

He groaned again as he realized that Legolas was talking to him and he hadn't heard. But the water had helped. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

Legolas looked down at him, worry showing plain across his features, "I asked if the water helped, and if you feel injured anywhere?"

"My ribs...my ribs need to be set again I think. How did you...where are we?"

Legolas proceeded to expose Aragorn's chest. The man winced as the elf carefully peeled the tunic back, it being still somewhat wet. The side was covered in dark, ugly bruises.

"You fell overboard remember?"

Far off in his mind Aragorn recalled the sensation of falling, and the shocked feeling of the water rushing up to meet him. "Yes."

"Well I followed you, and dragged you to the shore."

"You dove... in after me?" Aragorn looked up at his friend.

Legolas's eyes had a mischievous gleam, "Yes, you see, I had drawn the shortest straw."

Aragorn snorted, "That's very comforting. I feel lucky to have you with me, so I can count on your humor to see us through."

Again Legolas smiled, "Who said I was joking?"

"You darned elf. Just set the ribs."

Legolas's face grew serious again. Examining the side, he prodded an area with his fingertip. Aragorn hissed in response as a bolt of pain shot through him. The elf flicked his eyes upwards at this, and then back down to his work. Very carefully he separated out which ribs would have to be set and which seemed all right. Another healer would have to check his work later.

He had fortunately managed to keep his daggers, and so now drew one out. He poured some water over it in an attempt to clean the metal. He looked at his friend.  
"I have to cut Aragorn, and I am sure it will be painful."

Aragorn nodded, his breath tight, "I know."

"All right. Let me know when I've got them correctly in place, if you can." Legolas set one hand alongside the knife. Aragorn's skin was cold against his palm. Taking his blade, he pressed down, opening up a small rift. Blood oozed out, and Aragorn stiffened underneath him.

Carefully he slid his fingers inside and felt the rib. Grasping, he pulled it quickly into place, stopping when Aragorn squeezed his lower arm. Moving on, he pulled the next one into place, again stopping at the squeeze. The blood was warm; some had splattered against his lower arm. Aragorn moaned, his body twitching underneath the elf's hand.

Legolas grasped at the last rib and pulled. All three were set and he pulled his fingers out. He had neither thread nor needle to stitch the cut with, but he took his cloak and ripped it into bandages, which he wrapped tightly around the cut. The ribs were held in place and little blood spilt out after that.

Aragorn sighed and Legolas gave him more water. He had searched through their remaining possessions before, and Aragorn had still had his waterskin. This he had filled from a puddle formed by the rain.

"You should rest Aragorn."

The ranger nodded, his eyes already slipping shut. Legolas wiped his hands off as best he could, the blood feeling sticky between his fingers. He grimaced at the sense of it.

Aragorn now slept. Legolas glanced down at him, and on impulse, checked the pulse again. It beat out steadily. Confident that for now Aragorn was going to be fine, Legolas turned and pulled himself up into the branches of the tree.

Rain dripped down from the leaves above him and the branches swayed. Legolas climbed steadily, until he had reached the top and could look out across the forest. He had no idea where they were. The river had towed them some ways down, and he hadn't paid attention to where he had dragged himself and Aragorn. Shielding his eyes with one hand, he gazed about, hoping to recognize something to tell him where he was. There was nothing.

With a sigh he settled back against the branches, letting himself doze while the tree whispered to him.

* * *

Gimli shouted with rage. The boy fell to the deck, his blood mixing in with the water, making it seem like wine. He charged the corsair, knocking him back, the axe in his hands quite forgotten. The man struggled, kicking at him hard. Swinging his fists, a blow connected with Gimli's face, causing him to fall to one knee.

The dwarf grabbed the man, and pulled him down, water splashing everywhere. The corsair rolled with it, using the force to throw Gimli up against the wall. Sucking in a breath, Gimli stood forward and bowled into the man, putting all of his weight into the effort. With a grunt the corsair tried to get back up, only managing to gasp a second of air until Gimli pushed him under facedown.

The man struggled, and soon those struggles became desperate, his legs and arms flailing about in a panic. The water around them thrashed and frothed. Bubbles came up by the head, and then the body jerked once, twice, and was still. Gimli kept pressing, until he was sure the filth was dead, delivering to him a fate that which Aragorn, unbeknownst to him, had just barely managed to escape.

He stood. The man remained still, his face turning pale and blue underwater. Gimli didn't care though; his attention had turned to the boy.

The elf was lying half-up against the wall. He was bleeding from where the knife had slashed him, the blood flowing down him to mingle with the water. The knife had bit into the flesh of where the side of the throat meets the shoulder. If the boy had any luck at all the wound would not be fatal. Gimli ripped a piece of the boy's already ragged tunic and placed it across the gash. The child's eyes were clouded; he seemed not to notice this at all. But he was still breathing.

Keeping the pressure as best he could, Gimli carried him down the hall, searching in cabins for the other elves. The water was steadily rising, about even with his mid-shins now. The ship was sinking fast.

As he rounded a corner he came upon them. About twenty elves, mostly women and children, were huddled together in the hall. Apparently they had decided that between staying in the hull of a sinking ship, or going up on deck into battle, they'd take the battle. A woman cried out and hurried forward, taking the boy from Gimli. He showed her the gash and she nodded at him to show she understood that pressure was needed on the wound. She moved back, pressing down with her hand firmly.

Gimli called out across the noise of the water, "Do you speak the common tongue?"

She just stared at him, her eyes wide and confused. Gimli gestured to all the elves, "Do any of you? Common tongue? Can you speak it?" He was met with blank looks from all around.

The dwarf sighed, "Well, come on, follow me." He beckoned at them, and took a few steps forward. They followed instantly. He sighed again, _Well, at least they understood_. He led them up on deck, motioning for them to stay where they were, near the hatch. Hefting his axe he looked around, intending to continue where he had left off.

Corsairs lay dead on the deck, along with a few men and elves. But the truth was that the corsairs had been soundly defeated, no match for them in the end. Not one seemed to have survived. The ship itself was low in the water, covered with hacking marks, mostly reduced to mere splinters. There was nothing worth saving. The battle was over.

Walking between the bodies he saw a tall, dark-haired elf standing with Thranduil, and for a second though it was Tanvir. Reality set in a moment later though and he shook his head, angry with himself for allowing the grief to resurface. He moved over to them. As Gimli approached, he felt a nagging in the back of his mind, telling him he was forgetting something important.

With a shock he remembered Aragorn and Legolas. Looking about he saw that there was still no sign of them. The worry he had pushed away came rushing back as dark thoughts about their fates filled his mind. He hurried up to the king.

Thranduil turned to him, "Master dwarf." Upon seeing the look upon Gimli's face Thranduil felt his insides twist.

"Sir. Have you seen your son? Or Aragorn? Since this battle began I have seen neither."

Before Thranduil could answer, the elf standing next to the king cleared his throat, "Excuse me, Lord Aragorn and Prince Legolas both went overboard, just before the battle commenced."

Thranduil whirled to face him, "Both fell overboard?"

"Yes, when the ships collided. I believe Lord Aragorn was over there," here he pointed to where hours earlier, Aragorn had crouched, "when the railing gave way. He lost his balance, and the Prince dived in after him."

"Thank-you Fen-Galid. If you could stay to help move the survivors off ship, I am going to take a party downriver to find them."

"Yes, my Lord." Fen-Galid bowed and moved off.

Gimli fell into stride with Thranduil. The elf king swung ashore with one of the ropes, and Gimli followed suit, barely making it. Thranduil reached out and grabbed him.

"Thank-you."

Thranduil nodded, "You are going to come search with us I presume?"

"I'd like to see you stop me," was Gimli's growled response before he remembered to whom he was talking to.

But Thranduil only laughed, much to his surprise as to Gimli's. The king gathered about him a few elves, and after whistling for their horses, they went off, Gimli sitting in front of Thranduil's stallion.

* * *

Legolas moved back and forth from checking Aragorn on the forest floor, to keeping lookout and dozing in the branches. The ranger had still not awakened, but Legolas wasn't too worried as long as the pulse continued steadily. Part of the elf wished that he could move off to find help, but he was smart enough to know that spiders were not the only danger that lurked within the boarders of Mirkwood.

He had been dosing in the branches again when rustles from below stirred his attention. Moving quickly downwards from branch to branch, he leapt to the forest floor, landing beside his friend. Aragorn was coming around again at last.

The elf crouched next to him, "How do you feel my friend?"

Aragorn grinned, "Much better I think, now that I can breath. How long..."

"Have we been here?" Legolas finished his question.

Aragorn nodded, and sat up against the tree trunk.

The elf thought over the question for a moment, "With certainty I can say about six hours. But perhaps longer. It's already late afternoon."

Aragorn moved to stand up, "So when do we leave?"

Legolas gently pushed him back down. "We don't. Aragorn, you were thrown overboard, drowned, nearly died, hauled into a forest, and had your ribs just set. You, my friend, are staying here. And since I cannot leave you alone, I am staying here as well."

"Legolas don't be foolish. We can't stay here, we're exposed, we reek of blood I'm sure, and--"

"And we won't get three steps until you collapse again. Stop being stubborn Aragorn. You know that you cannot walk anywhere on your ribs. We shall wait here until someone notices our absences and comes out to find us."

"Legolas that could take days," Aragorn protested weakly, in his heart he knew the elf was right. Even the small movement had made his breath come short.

"Then we shall wait days. Or until your ribs have healed enough. You should learn to stop pushing yourself so hard Aragorn."

The man smirked, "Funny that advice should come from you."

Legolas grinned, "We're still waiting."

"All right! All right! Blast, we're waiting. Have you any idea where we are?"

At this Legolas's demeanor slumped slightly, "I'm afraid not actually. The river washed us downstream pretty far. I'm not quite sure of our location."

Aragorn sighed, and then suddenly, shivered. Legolas looked sharply at him, "Are you cold Aragorn?"

"No," Aragorn looked at his friend, "Well yes, but not really. It's only because of the wind."

"How cold was the water? I could not feel it."

The water...swirling around him in torrents...slamming into the boat... darkness... choking on it in his throat, feeling it enter his lungs...drowning, he had been drowning.

"Aragorn?"

"Like ice," Aragorn shivered again, "It was colder than ice."

* * *

The searchers had split up. Darkness was falling and Gimli had no desire to leave his friends out in it. It had been his suggestion to split the group in order to cover more ground.  
The dwarf cast his eyes everywhere, hoping to see some sign of the two. He and Thranduil had opted to ride alongside the river shore, reasoning that at some point the two would have had to cross it, leaving their tracks.

So far though, no luck. The dwarf was growing worried; he prayed to the valar that they hadn't drowned. By the paleness of Thranduil's face, that idea had entered the King's mind some time ago.

* * *

Legolas had moved back up high. With his elf eyes he could still see just as easily as if it were day, and he remained scanning the forest around them.

Aragorn lay against the trunk, with what remained of Legolas's cloak wrapped about him. Legolas had gone again and refilled the waterskin, and he and Aragorn called to each other, keeping a small conversation.

Legolas cast his gaze outwards again. The forest in his immediate vision seemed as it had always been, green and lush. Branches hanging down to block the sunlight during the day, and to darken the nights. But out on the far reaches he could see the beginning of the destruction. The forest line thinned and seemed to nearly end. So much of the woodland had burned, Mirkwood had been ravaged; the chaos inside of it wrecking devastation on the elven homes. So much of it was lost.

Legolas didn't want to look out anymore. He put thoughts of his home from his mind, and jumped back down to see his friend. Darkness had by now definitely fallen, and Legolas preferred to be on the ground in order to present a defense to anything that might come their way.

Aragorn was lying still, but Legolas could tell he was awake.

The elf smiled, even if Aragorn could not see it, the ranger could hear it in Legolas's voice, "Afraid of the dark hmm?"

Aragorn snorted with laughter, then wished he hadn't as it moved his side, "As I see it, you are the one who came down to me. Not so brave by yourself?"

"Me? An elf fears nothing. Did not Master Elrond teach you that?"

"He seemed to have missed that lesson." They trailed off in silence, Legolas leaning against the trunk, keeping his eyes open, if not his mind completely alert.

At some point both had fallen into light sleeps when a sound to their left jerked Legolas awake. Standing, he had his daggers out before he had even completely risen. Aragorn picked up a heavy stone lying nearby, preparing to backup his friend.

Moonlight filtered through the leaves, illuminating patches of ground. All seemed quiet. Still Legolas held his position. His daggers gleamed white, his hands gripped them steadily. He took a few cautious steps forward, listening carefully.

Now Aragorn could also hear it. Someone was riding a horse, approaching from their left. By the sound of it they were headed right for them.

A few seconds later the source revealed itself. Legolas broke into a grin, and gave a glad shout, "Gimli! Adar! Trust it be you who have found us!"

Thranduil's face showed much relief, "We found an area downstream that seemed as if an elf and a man had dragged themselves ashore. We followed a blood trail here, are both of you all right?" The king glanced at Legolas's tunic, still covered in blood.

Aragorn spoke, "We are both alive my Lord. I'm afraid that Legolas had to reset my ribs, your bandages came lose in the water."

"In that case," Gimli growled, sliding off the horse, "Do you know just what trouble you've caused? We've been out, ALL NIGHT, searching for you two, on that back of that horse! Trying to follow a blood trail in the dark!"

Legolas backed up against the tree, his hands out. The elf was laughing, "Poor Gimli, have we cut into your beauty sleep?"

Aragorn gave a snort of laughter, and then a wince of pain, which both Legolas and Gimli caught sight of. They exchanged a significant look with each other.

Thranduil dismounted smoothly, "It seems that King Elessar is in no shape to move. We shall stay here tonight, and tomorrow I will ride back to bring out supplies, and to inform others of your safety."

"What, we cannot ride back tonight?" Aragorn did not want to be stuck here any longer than he had to be.

Legolas answered him with a statement, "Stop being so stubborn. You cannot walk--"

"Let alone ride. We shall stay here as long as it takes for you to heal." Gimli finished the elf's sentence.

"I'm not--"

Legolas grinned, "Either stay of your own free will, or I will have Gimli here sit on your legs to keep you down."

Aragorn sighed, resigning himself, for now at least, to his friends' decisions. He leaned back against the tree, "Well, how fared the battle?"

For the rest of the evening the four discussed the events, letting the darkness eventually fade into the gray light of dawn.

* * *

With the coming day, Mirkwood saw one last fire. The elves had lit up the corsair ships, letting them burn on the water. The bodies of the enemy burned with them. When all had sunk to the bottom, Thranduil's people turned round, reentering the trees. With determined hearts they set about to rebuild their homes, to bring back that which the fire had destroyed. Under the rising sun the elves gratefully began their new labor. The chaos had come to a close, and a true sense of peace settled in at last.

* * *


	18. Epilogue

_Epilogue_

Across the plains there was a small breeze, causing the grass to bend slightly. A few grasshoppers jumped about lazily from stem to stem. Brego's mane was being whipped about, the black hair rippling down the horse's neck. The brown stallion's side gleamed in the afternoon sun; the horse hardly showing any signs of tiring as he topped the last hill at a brisk canter.

Aragorn sat high upon his back, pausing his steed for a moment to gaze out at his city. The white tower glistened, reflecting the sunlight. The ranger smiled, and after a second had passed, urged Brego on again.

He had been made to stay underneath that tree for three more days until he had been allowed to hobble slowly back to the elven makeshift dwellings. His ribs had been re-bandaged and Legolas's cut carefully closed. He had kept the elf's company until he left.

Many of his soldiers had remained behind to offer their services to the Mirkwood allies. The others now accompanied him back to his kingdom. Upon their departure Aragorn had searched his friend's face carefully for any signs of lingering despair or wrath and had been pleased to find none. Elves had gone to Lothlorien in order to obtain some of the Lady's soil. With it they hoped to bring forth many trees before the next snowfall.

Legolas had pulled him aside to offer a few last words before parting. "As always, you have been present during times of need. Aragorn, had you not arrived when you did..." Legolas trailed off, looking Aragorn in the eye, "My friend, I do not know how to thank-you, nor how to repay this debt."

"I did no more than what you would have done for me."

The two clasped arms, and then as Aragorn turned to mount his horse, Legolas stepped back, "Try to get home without getting into trouble now." The elf prince had smiled, watching his friend ride off; then he turned to continue his work. It would be long and difficult, but he was filled with much hope.

Seeing the Minas Tirith before him now Aragorn reflected on those words and grinned. Gimli had opted to remain behind to aid Legolas in his efforts to rebuild his home, but Aragorn longed to return to his own. With a kick he rode Brego proudly down the hill and into the city.

* * *

Arwen sat inside the garden. She was gowned in a flowing white dress, with pale green hangings and cuffs. She was watching the sunlight shimmer off the water, meditating on the last few days.

The smoke had finally cleared, helping to ease some of her worry. Aragorn's absence had been much longer than she had expected, and she missed her husband dearly. Even the coming of the rains and the ending of the drought had done little to lift her spirits much. What she longed for was to see Aragorn safe and unharmed, back to be with her.  
Sitting on the garden bench, she ran her fingers through her hair absentmindedly while she thought of what Aragorn might be doing right now.

A horn sounded, startling her out of her reverie. She blinked, a tad confused, and then a hopeful expression lit her face. As she stood, another horn sounded.

Gathering her skirts about her she hurried from the garden, climbing up the steps into the palace, and then raced down the stone hallways. A servant hurried out of her way as she rushed towards the throne room, and from there, to enter the courtyard.

But she didn't quite get that far. As she was halfway across the floor, the far doors opened, allowing Aragorn to walk into the room. A satisfied grin was upon his face, and though it seemed to her that his walk was a bit stiff, he held himself tall and kingly.

Arwen rushed into his embrace, a few tears spilling down her cheeks. She held him tightly, not wishing to let go. Aragorn pulled back a bit to direct her lips into a kiss. After a moment, they broke apart, Arwen holding her hand around his waist.

"Miss me?"

"I am so glad to see you safe. I worried when you did not return soon." She felt his side, feeling his slight wince, "You are injured!"

"Was injured, but am now mostly recovered." Aragorn turned to look directly at her, "Arwen, I am afraid that the fire was only one of Mirkwood's troubles."

"What happened then?"

"Later tonight I will tell you perhaps. For now..." Aragorn turned towards her again, and leaning down, met her lips in a soft, then passionate kiss. And for them, the moment was forever. The king had returned.

* * *

well, like I said, a short epilogue. Hope that you have enjoyed! For the last time in this story I give my many thanks to all of my reviewers. Everyone has been so nice to me, thank-you so much! Namarie!

silvanelf


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